A Life of War
by Great Thumbs of Wisdom
Summary: This story has been rewritten. Warning: battles and slaughter await, violence and excessive language! The nation of Velosia is besieged from all sides by foes who are driven by honor, country, revenge, greed, and a mysterious sect of Hocotain worshipers.
1. Prologue

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own pikmin and this is not a ripoff of Ferahgo's "Pikmin: ---" series.**

**Here it is, I finally rewrote A Life of War, as promised. Here, I hope to offer a deeper, darker look at the twisted side of war, told from the musings of red pikmin soldiers in the nation of Velosia. I've decided to cut green pikmin, so far. Each chapter will be a little flash into a certain moment, though battles might be longer chapters.**

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There's always that sickly feeling of nervousness before a battle. Every veteran warrior knows this feeling well; for them, it's just another part of their job. And Tyvern was no exception. An inexperienced soldier, one of the youngest in his unit, the closest thing to battle he had ever experienced was when he got in a fistfight during his seedling years.

But then there was the Captain. His name was B'lard; he'd helped fight more wars than he could count, and he'd just about gotten killing down to a science. His face was a mask of focus, betraying no thought or emotion. The first time that Tyvern saw his face, he thought it had been etched from stone.

He'd been born and trained to kill, without thought, without emotion. Only cold, ruthless brutality.

The Captain was of a rare breed of warrior, capable of deeds of slaughter and leadership undreamed of by the masses. By his hand great champions and countless soldiers had fallen. He had withstood the odds and survived hundreds of battles. The deep-set scars and lines etched into his weathered face were testament to this fact.

But what Tyvern didn't know was that behind that cold, emotionless mask, B'lard was constantly going through countless calculations and thoughts. He had a unit to run, and a duty to do. Velosia, his country, his home, was at war with the nation of Marnam. The fighting had not been going on for very long, but already casualties had been heavy. Despite it's powerful army, the red pikmin of Velosia were outnumbered by the Marnamians. Mistakes had been made; battles had been lost. And now B'lard and his 'min were here to clean up the mess.

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**Yes, sorry to dissapoint you, but all the chapters will be short like this.**

**Get used to it.**


	2. Introduction

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own pikmin and this is not a ripoff of Ferahgo's "Pikmin: ----" series.**

**In this short chapter we cover the prospect of reinforcements arriving just a bit too late to save their comrades. Always weighs on the commander, regardless of whether it was his fault or not, doesnt it?**

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"Sergeant!" barked the formidable Captain. "What is your report?"

The Sergeant, an experienced soldier and veteran campaigner, shook his head grimly. "The fort's been wiped out, sir. Those yellow-bellied cowards didn't leave anybody alive. They took everything."

"And what of the fortifications?"

"Gone, sir. The bastards went out of their way to tear apart the palisade, and they burned at least half the buildings to the ground."

"Any bodies? Remains?"

"Yes sir. It appears like they just left most of the bodies lying where they fell, but the officers were all piled up and burned."

B'lard sighed heavily. "Damnit... we were too late."

"Orders, sir?"

The Captain waved his hand dismissively. "Just round up the 'min and get them ready to march to the fort."

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**Next chapter is rather gruesome, lots of hacked up pikmin bodies. Prepare for it.**

**Leave a review, please.**


	3. Massacre

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own pikmin and this is not a ripoff of Ferahgo's "Pikmin: ----" series.**

**In this chapter we see what happened to the poor pikmin who tried to defend Fort Sgein. Apparantly, they were massacred. Also, the longest chapter yet. Still haven't decided on the length of battle chapters.**

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Tyvern's first glimpse of Fort Sgein was not one of strength or efficiency. Unlike many who had come before, he did not see the tall palisade, the stern-faced red gate-guards, or the welcoming sight of chimney smoke wafting over the frozen rocks of the pass. What he saw was a razed fort, a splintered mass of smoldering wood that had once been a wall, and faint smoke drifting away on the wind; not from a food-fire, but from the remains of buildings and funeral pyres.

As Tyvern passed through the dying embers and ash that had once been the gate, he managed to see into the fort itself. Like the soldiers around him, his expression went from apprehension to terror and disgust.

The bodies of scores of red Velosian soldiers lay everwhere. They had been left where they fell, twisted and sprawled like ragdolls, their coats and pain-wracked faces covered by frost and a light coverlet of snow. A smell, the stench of death, wafted through the air, carried by the biting northern wind. The wind itself swirled around both the living and the dead, the intact and the destroyed. Blood smeared the walls; weapons and shields lay broken on the ground.

It had been a massacre.

Captain B'lard strode to the head of the faltering column. "Sergeant," he began. "Do you know what happened here?"

The Sergeant thought for a moment, drinking in the fresh sight of Fort Sgein. "Well, sir, it appears that a large army of Marnam bastards lay siege to the fort. After an uncertain amount of time, they broke through the palisade and lay waste to the garrison."

B'lard shook his head. "Only half the story, Brolk."

"What do you mean, sir?"

The Captain made a wide sweep of his arm. Entranced by his imposing image, his soldiers watched enraptured.

"The Marnamians surrounded Fort Sgein over three months ago. General Marbak sent a messenger on foot; he managed to get through the Marnamians, and soon reached us. Meanwhile, the garrison at Sgein was starving. Anything that could be eaten, was. The bulmin were taken out of the pen and eaten one by one. This alone would have easily lasted the garrison more than the time they had. But it didn't. Do you know what this means, Brolk?"

"No sir," barked the grizzled Sergeant in reply.

B'lard pulled an arrow from a half-burned wood pole. "It means that the Marnamians got inside the fort. How did they do this?"

"No idea, sir."

"Think, Brolk, think! The bulbmin needed food as well, correct?"

"Yes sir."

"And they didn't have that. So the bulbmin were starving too, and many of them must have died. This means that the garrison was severely weakened, low on morale, and rapidly running out of supplies. That, my friend, is when the Marnamiams made their move. They rained arrows down on the fort from afar; many of them burning, it would appear," -he gestured at a black pockmark around an arrow- "And then swarmed the palisade. The garrison fell quickly. They were outnumbered, and in all likelihoods emaciated. You can tell that just by looking at them. Don't they look a bit thin to you?"

"Yes sir. How long do you think it's been since the battle?"

B'lard thought for a moment as he snapped the arrow. "Judging by the evidence, I would have to say that the battle took place within the last few days. Luckily it's cold; the bodies haven't had enough warmth to swell and rot. A good educated guess, wouldn't you say, Sergeant?"

Brolk nodded and replied gruffly. "Yes Captain. Your orders?"

B'lard pulled his heavy fur coat further over his shoulders. "Have the 'min gather up the bodies. It's time we gave the dead the proper burial they deserve. And while we're at it, we might as well set up camp. Have some of the 'min get a pen set up for the bulbmin."

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**The unpleasantness of death, eh? Keep in mind, these are PIKMIN that are getting hacked to bits... so no innocence here. All gone down the drain.**

**R&R, please.**


	4. Gravedigging

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own pikmin and this is not a ripoff of Ferahgo's "Pikmin: ----" series.**

**Oh, the bloodshed and the slaughter. When will it ever end? It's never pleasant to have to bury your own comrades, but scores of them? In the winter? Morale will shoot down into the sublevels, I can assure you on that point. This is a pretty long chapter, compared to others.**

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Tyvern was one of those on burial duty. He hated the job; the ground was frozen near solid, the bodies were cold and stiff, the faint smell of death hung on the air, and the silence made it even more unbearable. And since tools were rare, many of the soldiers were forced to chip at the rock-hard ground with their axes and spears.

"Damn yellow-bellies," a soldier muttered darkly. A rock had taken a chip out of his axe.

"Shut up Siers," growled a Sergeant with a nasty scar down his left cheek. "Save it for when they come back to get you."

Tyvern suddenly felt a tinge of apprehension. "Sergeant Tyre?"

The Sergeant with the deep scar on his face looked up from his labors. "What is it?"

"Um... where did the Marnamians go after the battle?"

"North."

Tyvern fairly jumped when he heard the deep, gravelly voice of Captain B'lard. Like a loaded spring he jumped to attention, stem bent at a forty-five degree angle in the customary Velosian salute. "Captain! Sir!"

B'lard snorted and waved his heavy mailled hand. "At ease 'min."

Tyvern let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. The soldiers around him, who had also sprung to attention, relaxed in a similiar fashion.

"As I was saying, the Marnamians went north. The passage west is now blocked by our own forces. The mountains block the option of going the short way to the Great City. This leaves them with two options: retreat back to their own country in the southeast, or press their current advantage and march north. They obviously chose to move north; only a very inept commander would not take this road, and General Varek is no fool."

Sergeant Tyre nodded gravely, but Tyvern was in too much shock to properly respond. B'lard noticed this.

"Soldier? Is there a problem?"

Tyvern shook himself of his thoughts. "Yes sir," he replied. "A very big problem."

"And what is that?"

The young red pikmin could not keep his hand from shaking; there was a visible look of fear on his face.

"By heading north, the yellow-bellies will bypass our armies, and set themselves on a route that will take them right through my village!"

B'lard smiled wryly. "So you came from Tynenburg?

"Y-yes sir."

There was a brief moment of almost mocking silence. Tyvern couldn't help but notice the glint in his Captain's eyes.

Finally B'lard spoke. "Do you really think that an army of hundreds could maintain itself high up in the mountains? Do you really think that by now General Flimnr hasn't anticipated their movement and detatched a unit of troops to Tynenburg?"

The realization finally hit him. Apprehension quickly faded into relief.

"Thank Ero!" sighed Tyvern, letting himself fall into the small hole he had created. There was a laugh from one of the other soldiers; it was quickly silenced by a glare from Sergeant Tyre, who was also from Tynenburg.

B'lard stopped all further conversation by picking up Tyvern's axe and expertly throwing it into the ground next to the young pikmin's hand. Tyvern jumped to his feet like a scalded Flint Beetle; Sergeant Tyre could hardly restrain a loud guffaw. Siers, however, was having no problems letting his laughter out. In fact, he was very busy trying not to roll into the hole he had dug.

"Well," chuckled Tyre, "Back to work!"

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**Yes, plenty of obscenities for a pikfic, as you've no doubt noticed. Too bad. I have other pikfics in the pipe that are much more innocent and good natured. Maybe you could wait for them?**

**R&R please.**


	5. Messenger

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own pikmin and this is not a ripoff of Ferahgo's "Pikmin: ----" series.**

**The rebuilding of Fort Sgein is mostly skipped over in this chapter, but a messenger shows up later delivering news. What news? You'll probably be wondering "What the heck are they talking about?" Read the next chapter if you want to find out.**

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After the last of the bodies had been buried the soldiers were set to work setting up fresh fortifications and making Fort Sgein habitable again. The bulbmin were set in the rebuilt pens, crude as aforementioned pens were. The work was long and grueling, and took two days. But finally, the pikmin were able to rest. They did not care whether or not others had died in the very beds in which they lay, they were only glad for a little warmth and respite.

On the third day a messenger arrived, riding a sturdy bulbmin. He was delivering orders from General Flimnr. Captain B'lard took him into his personal quarters, which had once been the armory.

"I have two hundred and fifty soldiers under my command," snapped B'lard, slamming his knife into the timbers of the thick table.

"That is true," replied the messenger, "But you will not be able to stand against the Marnamians even with that number. You need reinforcements."

"Exactly!" retorted the Captain, leaning back in his chair next to the hearth.

"...But we cannot spare reinforcements in time."

B'lard growled and wrenched his knife free from the wood. He pointed it at the messenger. "Listen here, courier. You tell Captain Meine that he had better be here by the time the Marnamians arrive. I am not leaving this fort to those yellow bastards."

The messenger backed towards the door, pulling his heavy fur pelt closer. "I'm sorry sir, but it will take two weeks to get a sizeable force all the way up here. The Marnamians will be here within five days."

"Bah! Excuses, excuses. There are three hundred able soldiers within thirty miles of here, all of whom are capable of reaching this fort in less than three days."

"Sir, the Captain advises you to retreat..."

"Begone, courier! I will have no more of this talk. My 'min are miserable enough as it is."

The messenger hastily bundled himself up in furs and left on his bulbmin steed.

For a minute B'lard did nothing but sit in his chair, warmed by the fire, and ponder on the news he had received. Then he stood, and strode heavily to the door.

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**A short chapter, one which deals with certain... unexpected elements. Apparantly, something has happened on other fronts (possibly General Flimnr? Hint, hint), and reinforcements cannot be spared. What's a pikmin to do?**

**R&R please.**


	6. Desertion

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own pikmin and this is not a ripoff of Ferahgo's "Pikmin: ----" series.**

**There's nothing quite like the feeling that you've been really screwed over, am I right folks? Everybody hates cowards, but sometimes the coward is the wiser. Or are they making a mistake all along?**

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"My fellow Velosian warriors..." began the Captain, raising his covered hand in salute. "I will begin by telling you that General Flimnr has won a victory over the Marnamians in the north, and driven them away with slaughter. However, I regret to inform you that much of their army remains intact, and that they are heading here to recouperate their losses. They outnumber us more than two to one. I also regret to say... that reinforcements are not forthcoming. We are alone here."

The assembled ranks began to murmer and question amongst themselves.

"We have two choices: stay here, and most likely die, and block the pass. Or we can retreat, and allow the Marnamians to take the fort, and recouperate their strength enough to attack again and possibly defeat Captain Meine. I have decided to stay here, along with any who will help me."

For a minute, there was nothing but silence. Finally, one by one, the soldiers began to walk away. Each individual grabbed what food they could carry, and many took with them a bulbmin, before leaving the fort.

Siers watched his fellow Velosians walk away. "This isn't worth it, I'm not dying over a stupid fort!" He went to step away, only for Tyvern to grab him by the arm.

"Siers, wait! This isn't a matter of pride, someone has to stay and fight! If we don't... the Marnamians could march right over us. We can do this! We can hold them off!"

The other pikmin jerked his arm away. He rested his hand on Tyvern's shoulder. "Don't you see, Tyvern? We can't win this, not even if we tried. We need to fall back, regroup... find a better position to fight from."

Tyvern stepped back. "No... no, we can do this. We can fight them."

But even as Siers walked away, Tyvern wondered, _Can we? Can we really win this?_

One by one, the soldiers left, until only a hundred stood there with their Captain.

B'lard set his jaw. "Then it is settled." His eyes glistened. "Do you agree to die?"

Tyvern turned back and looked at his Captain, the stoic commander... his hero. And suddenly, he saw that B'lard was destined to die.

The younger pikmin set his jaw. _Is it really worth it? Should I stay here and die? Wouldn't it be better to retreat, and regroup?_

Tyvern saw, then, what he must do.

He walked away.

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**Really, is teenage angst supposed to be a part of pikfics everywhere? I guess it is, if you slyly remove the teenage part and treat it as typical drama drivel. Enjoy.**

**R&R please.**


	7. Cowardice

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own pikmin and this is not a ripoff of Ferahgo's "Pikmin: ----" series.**

**As I'm writing this my butt is starting to hurt from sitting in my lovely swivel chair for too long, so let's get right down to the business of angst and drama drivel, shall we? Sucky writing, but I had trouble extending this flash-chapter (as I call them) even to _this_ length. Dig in, ye hungerers of words.**

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As he left Fort Sgein, Tyvern looked back over his shoulder one last time, and saw the last few brave souls who were willing to stay and fight, to buy time. There were less than a hundred of them; a suicide gesture. Captain B'lard still stood there, defiant, his fur cloak billowing in the cold northern wind. He looked just as grim and hard as the mighty peaks that jutted out of the mountains all around him. Nearby stood Sergeant Brolk, and others that Tyvern had known.

Not for the last time, Tyvern wondered if he had made the best choice.

"They're doomed," muttered one of the pikmin nearby as he led a bulbmin away. "Doomed, and still they want to fight. Bloodthirsty fools."

Tyvern turned on the pikmin. "No. Not fools. _Heroes_."

A one-eyed sergeant with a broken nose patted Tyvern on the shoulder. "That's right. It's pikmin like them that keep this big world of ours safe. When you get back to your village, you tell everyone about the bravery and the last stand of Captain B'lard and his ninety 'min. Songs can be sung about this. Sad songs, but songs nonetheless."

Tyvern nodded. He understood. Really, a force of roughly ninety Velosian pikmin could not hope to win against a force of hundreds, despite the quality of the troops.

Slowly, one hundred and forty pikmin made their way back towards the nearest Velosian fort.

"We'll join up with Captain Meine's forces," said Siers. "And then we'll turn around, and beat those bastards back to Marnam. B'lard and his fools will at least be avenged."

Tyvern looked at his friend as they walked. He wondered how it would all turn out. If he had stayed, would they have sung songs about him? Would they have told about how he, a young worker pikmin from Tynenburg, had put his life on the line to buy time at Fort Sgein? He sighed. He would never know now.

The pikmin marched on, away from destruction.

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**No, poor B'lard is not the main character. Don't get your hopes up. He's as good as dead, it's only a matter of time. Can our poor pikmin hero get away with leaving the Fort, or will it haunt him for the rest of his life? Probably the latter; this is apparantly a drama/angst story, after all. And where's our buddy Tyre?**

**R&R please.**


	8. Remember

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own pikmin and this is not a ripoff of Ferahgo's "Pikmin: -----" series.**

**What exactly happened to B'lard and his stubborn soldiers? You'll see later. Remember, these guys are soldiers, and red pikmin at that, so even the "noobies" are tough, hard warriors, and they probably took quite a few yellow bellies with them. After all, they live in the cold, frozen north, don't they?**

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**One week later...**

Tyvern sat in the inn, stirring his clover beer and musing over his personal shortcomings. There was a warm fire in the hearth, and the other soldiers were drinking and singing raucously. But he was not.

Suddenly the doors opened and a hunched, snowblind figure stepped through the waves of ice and wind. All raucousness stopped.

Tyvern stood up immediately. "Who are you?"

The hunched figure stumbled, righted itself, and then limped towards the one who had spoken. Several of the other soldiers, drunk, began to jeer and taunt, a few throwing bits of food and their plates at the figure.

Finally reaching Tyvern under the barrage, the stooped figure fell to its knees and nearly topple to its face, but Tyvern caught it. The fur hood fell back... and there was Tyre, his face mangled and his left eye hidden by a sagging brow. Dried blood covered his face.

"Tyre?"

Tyre grabbed at his friend's vest, pulling at him, his pleading eye begging, searching. He was unable to speak properly, and he was dying. But he still had enough strength left to fall forward into his friend's arms and whisper one last thing.

"Remember us."

And then he died.

In that moment, Tyvern felt neither sadness nor grief.

He felt anger.

-----

**You join the army, you find a good mentor and friend, he stays behind in a battle where everybody is supposed to die, survives, walks all the way back to you, and then dies in front of you. What a cold slap in the groin.**

**R&R please.**


	9. Brawling

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own pikmin and this is not a ripoff of Ferahgo's "Pikmin: ----" series.**

**Here it is, probably the longest chapter yet. I don't know, as of me writing this it hasn't been posted yet. So far reviews have been extremely positive, and my story appears much more popular than I originaly thought it would be. Thanks everybody! Let me just say that rivals very quickly develop in this chapter, and some of the foulest language yet is contained. Be warned.**

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Siers stepped tentatively over to the body. For a moment he stared solemnly; he appeared to be paying homage to the fallen sergeant. Then he laughed, and loudly.

"Stubborn fool! I never really liked him anyway."

Tyvern needed no further provocation. With a yell, he threw himself into the middle of Siers and struck his face with heavy fists. The drunk soldiers began to whoop and yell, happy for some entertainment.

Shocked, Siers stumbled back and flipped over a table, scattered the soldiers around it and their clover beers. Furious, he jumped to his feet and threw off his fur cloak.

"You want it, farmer? You want it?" he roared, stepping over a soldier who was too drunk to move out of the way.

"Fight, fight, fight!" screamed the soldiers.

"You'll pay for that," growled Tyvern darkly, shrugging off his cloak. He raised his fists.

With a roar, Siers threw himself into the middle of Tyvern. Though he was the larger and faster of the two, he was not necessarily the toughest or smartest. Tyvern took the first blow to his jaw, stood stoicly and delt a powerful punch to his rival's nose.

By now many of the soldiers had made a ring around the duo, who were thoroughly locked in their fight.

Tyvern took a blow to the stomach and went down to one knee. Siers bent low to deal another punch, only to recieve Tyvern's bud to his face, knocking him off balance. Standing, Tyvern slugged him once in the face and once in the chest. With a roar of anger, Siers charged forward, pushing Tyvern into the bar and then throwing him to the ground. The smaller of the two quickly rolled away from Siers' kick and grabbed his leg.

"C'mere!" yelled Siers, before he fell face first into a nearby table.

With a yell, Tyvern scrambled to his feet for just long enough to throw himself onto Siers back. Every time the larger pikmin turned his face, the smaller dealt him a solid blow.

"Gerroff!" Siers barked angrily, heaving and bucking. For just a moment he was nearly able to jump up, and he took the opportunity to bring his elbow back into Tyvern's face.

Tyvern, stunned, rolled backwards. By this time Siers had scrambled to his feet. One of the more sober soldiers now stepped in to try to seperate the two. Siers, in the dim light of the inn, slugged him to the stomach and threw him into the crowd. Hoots and hollers of excitement drowned out anything that might have been said to stop the fight.

"Yaaaagh!" screamed Tyvern, charging forward and throwing himself at Siers. In a moment they were locked in death grips on the floor. Several other pikmin were fighting now, most of them drunk.

Now Tyvern grabbed a piece of table, but Siers had the leg of a chair. He proved the faster, and struck Tyvern in the face.

"Argh!" cried Tyvern, scrambling to grab something before he was struck again.

Tyvern grabbed and held Siers' wrists firmly, but Siers brought his head forehead with great force and knocked him back with a headbutt. Stunned, Tyvern failed to do anything about Siers next punch to his stomach, which brought him to his knees. Tyvern was powerless to stop Siers' bringing his knee up into his chin, knocking him flat on his back.

Siers stood slowly, wiping at a trickle of blood from his nose.

"Bastard," he growled darkly, stepping forward. "I'll teach you!"

"Onion's bitch!" retorted Tyvern, stumbling to his feet. Siers dropped him with a punch.

"I'm going to beat out whatever shit you've been eating!" Siers screamed, flinging blood from his bleeding nose.

Tyvern could not even raise his hands to stop Siers' heavy boot from slamming mercilessly into his face.

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**Well, that was... violent. And foul-languaged. Still, I'm rather satisfied with how this chapter turned out. Poor Sergeant Tyre, lying there on the cold hard floor with a brawl going on around his body. Seems like nobody cares for the dead these days, tsk, tsk.**

**R&R please.**


	10. Last Stand

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own pikmin and this is not a ripoff of Ferahgo's "Pikmin: -----" series.**

**Here we go, first part of the two part explanation that details B'lard's last stand. I've decided to go through with a slightly different story than I had originally wanted to follow, because this storyline would be better. Also, keep in mind that B'lard's last stand is just an early memory of Tyvern's, but also that things can go very, very wrong in war. (sorry for posting the wrong chapter, there was a slight technical problem)**

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Yule was not a young pikmin. His glory years had passed long ago; his left eye was milky white and useless, wounded by a spear in battle. The scars on his body and his battered equipment were testiment to the fact that this soldier had survived his fair share of wars.

The aged soldier advanced forward through the night, noting that much of Fort Sgein remained in abject disrepair. But, along with his comrades, he also noticed that the red pikmin were still not giving up.

The Velosians had not entirely wasted their time. In the time that it had taken the Marnamians to reach Sgein, they had built a palisade and fortified the most defenseable portion of the fort. Stakes had been lined up, axes sharpened, swords honed, armor repaired.

This would be their last stand.

--

Tyre and Brolk watched the advancing first wave of Marnamian soldiers. Each was outfitted in diblets, cured leather that took the place of chainmail, or thick coats. Most wore helmets, and all but a few carried spears. The rest were armed with axes; they apparantly planned to use them on the breastworks erected by the Velosians.

"I'll inform B'lard," whispered Tyre, "You rally your min."

Brolk nodded gravely and loosened the axe that hung from his belt.

Tyre quickly turned and made his way through the warriors that sat around the several campfires. As the ring of fortifications and sharpened stakes was small, he did not have far to go before he reached the inner ring. This was a raised mound, surrounded by a much similiar palisade and several stakes. B'lard sat next to a fire with a dozen of his warriors, discussing the rough plan they had formulated.

"Captain, the first wave is quickly approaching. The bastards have already surrounded us."

B'lard cursed. "Damn them to Gfal! Quickly, rouse the warriors and prepare for battle. We must use what little time remains to us."

Tyre turned and sprang back over the inner palisade, landing with a crunch in the snow. Wordlessly he made his way to each campfire. Within minutes every one of the grim-faced warriors stood at their posts, weapons at the ready. They were going to die, but the longer they could draw it out the better. With any luck, they could convince Varek to retreat with his army back to their own land and rally more troops. This would give the rest of Velosia time, and time was life.

"Give your prayers to Ero!" B'lard called suddenly, placing his heavy metal helmet on his head, exposing only his flower. "By tomorrow, we will all be dining in Yolahfa!"

The warriors gave a blood-curdling roar.

B'lard tightened his belts and coat, and prepared for the last battle of his life.

--

Yule cursed inwardly at the sound of the battle-cry. He quickly scrambled to his feet and charged forward, but most of the younger pikmin had already beat him to the deed.

"Yeeaaaagh!" screamed the wave of Marnamians, over a hundred total. Spears glinted in the glare of torches as they were hastily lit; arrows twanged, long shields clattered, and soldiers roared.

This would be slaughter.

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**Sorry to cut this chapter so short, but it would have been too long if I had put in the actual battle sequence. It's in the next chapter, and you can bet all your money on it being very, very depressing. In case you're wondering, it probably wouldn't buy much time for ninety guys to try and hold off a night attack of several hundred angry soldiers. At the least, they're hoping of going down in a blaze of glory, giving a last good effort, and killing off a great chunk of yellow-bellies. The most they can hope for is to convince General Varek, the Marnam leader, to go back to his homeland and gather more troops.**

**R&R please.**


	11. The Battle

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own pikmin and this is not a ripoff of Ferahgo's "Pikmin: ----" series, yada yada yada.**

**The last stand of B'lard. Some might say foolish, others might say bloodthirsty, a few might even go so far as to say "brave." But hey, why did Leonidas and his 300 spartans give their lives to a cause they couldn't have won? To buy time and to do as much damage as he possibly could. Did B'lard fail or did he gain at least a moral victory? Really that is a question that cannot be answered. I'll leave you to draw your own conclusions.**

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The fires illuminated the hagard faces of the determined Marnamian troops. Scores of yellow soldiers, hundreds even, charged through the blackened remnants of Fort Sgein. Bows twanged, soldiers screamed, swords clashed. Yule watched in growing anticipation, the hot throng of battle rising in his veins, as the younger soldiers rushed the barricade. He was wiser, he had seen more. He slackened his pace.

With loud screams a score or so Marnam soldiers on all sides of the barricade disappeared into a ring of deep trenches filled with sharpened stakes. Gore dripped from the impaled bodies.

"Jump!" someone cried out. It was Yule. Not many soldiers obeyed his command, and fell headfirst into the trenches. Their mangled bodies would be of no use tonight.

By now the survivors of the first wave had cleared the trenches and were attacking the barricade. They were desperate, haggard; their defeat at the hands of Flimnr had cost them most of their supplies and a great many of their 'min. Their very survival hinged on killing the Velosian warriors and taking their food. The soldiers hacked, clawed and tried vainly to destroy the palisade. A good many fell upon the sharpened stakes, pointed up at a 65 degree angle.

"Oh Ero!" screamed a young pikmin as Yule leaped over the trench. The stake had gone clean through the poor soul's stomach and out his back; entrails glimmered dimly in the dull moonlight as the soldier tried to pull himself out. With pity in his eyes, Yule took his spear and ran it through the young pikmin's heart.

"Attack! Fight!" bellowed Yule, pulling his spear free and readying himself for the agonizing climb over the palisade. Already the second wave had arrived, and soldiers were scrambling up and over the wall like insects.

--

Sergeant Brolk fought as he had never fought before, slashing at the first face he saw over the barricade with his spear. A cry of surprise, replaced by anguish and agony, as the pikmin fell backwards with a torn face.

Marnam soldiers were pouring over the palisade. With a roar, Brolk thrust his spear into the chest of one of his foes, even as another pikmin vaulted over the wall after him. Brolk thrusted again, and passed his spear through a falling pikmin. There was a pronounced _crack!_ and his spear gave way.

The grim faces of the red pikmin were spattered with blood and entrails, but still they fought and repelled the Marnam soldiers. A yellow pikmin appeared over the palisade and thrust his spear, overhanded, into the chest of a Velosian warrior. A second warrior swung with his axe, splitting the yellow pikmin's head in half horizontally.

With his own axe, Brolk split a Marnamian's shield in half and cracked his arm. The pikmin screamed in agony, but as Brolk went to pull his axe away and strike again a spear passed over the back of his hand and sliced it open. Brolk cried in pain, but with his left hand he hurriedly wrenched his sword from its sheath and plunged it down into a yellow pikmin's skull, at the same time cracking the spear that had wounded him.

A warrior of Velosia made a mighty swing of his sword; a Marnam soldier's head left his shoulders, spouting blood and gore as the still twitching body propelled itself over the palisade. In the place of every slain Marnamian were two more; their desperate, grim faces betrayed only their determination to win. A gutted pikmin fell over the wall and landed at the feet of the red warriors, his intestines strewn across the ground beneath him, steaming in the cold winter air. A warrior gave a loud roar and brought his boot crashing down on the weeping Marnamian's head; brains and blood seeped from the smashed skull into the already stained snow.

A warrior fell next to Brolk, two spears protruding from his chest. The warrior fell, not yet dead, holding his spear-point upwards. With a cry, a surprised yellow pikmin leaped right over the wall and onto the spear; the weapon tore his entrails and strung them out his back.

Suddenly a grim-faced Marnamian appeared over the wall in front of Brolk. The scarred face betrayed no emotion as the pikmin reached out and thrust a knife deep into Brolk's neck.

Suddenly the sergeant's vision grew hazy. Warm blood was running quickly, too quickly, out of his neck. Time seemed to slow down._ I'm going to die_, he thought, and indeed he had already sunk to his knees. _My 'min, my brothers_, he thought sadly, forlornly, as he slumped to the ground against the warrior with two spears in his chest.

As his thoughts clouded and his life blood pooled in the red snow, Brolk watched his 'min try in vain to stem the tide of Marnam soldiers. For every Velosian, there were ten yellow pikmin, it seemed. A warrior fell, his face cleaved open by a sword. A second warrior caught a yellow on his sword, only to fall dead to the spear of another. A warrior, his stomach opened up and his guts strewn out all around him, cursed loudly and wailed.

_What have I done?_ thought Brolk, and his eyes closed for the last time.

--

Yule wrenched his knife from the throat of the warrior and slammed his shield into the head of another with a resounding _crack!_ Dozens of Marnamians were streaming over the walls, even as the walls themselves began to split and crack under the axes of those outside.

The hardest part was over, thought Yule as he rolled himself over the barricade and dropped to his knees with a thump. A maddened Velosian warrior appeared, sword raised over his head. With an animal-like cry, "Eeeyah!" the warrior brought his axe crashing down against Yule's shield. The shockwave nearly broke the old soldier's arm, but with a mighty effort he pushed up and out, knocking the warrior back. Vainly Yule sought for his spear, any spear. The warrior struck again. "Eeeyah!" This time his axe split Yule's shield, nicking his brow on the other side; at the same time, the old yellow pikmin's fingertips brushed a spear and he wrapped them around it.

"Ero!" he gasped as he swung his numbed shield arm outwards and thrust his spear through the Velosian. The red warrior gave a short, harsh cry, but his axe was gone from his grasp, embedded in the Marnamian's shield. Yule thrust deeper. The red pikmin's eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped backwards to the ground.

The Velosians had lost the battle; there was no winning now that their wall was breeched. A brave sergeant with a deep scar on his face barked out orders and rallied his 'min together, shields out. "Fall back, fall back to the inner circle!"

Warriors and soldiers alike were crying out for help and for their Mother-onions, raising up their hands from the piles of gore and carnage.

Yule stood and shrugged off his shield. There was another at his feet; he took it but did not strap it on, instead holding it by the first strap.

"Attack!" the aged soldier barked, pointing with his spear. Already pikmin were rushing past him, yelling battlecries and oaths as they threw themselves against the shields of the Velosians. Spear flashed; shield shook; sword clove; axe split. Screams wrent the night air as bodies fell to the still burning fires. Marnamians poured over the walls, vaulting and leaping and scrambling. The smell of burning flesh nearly caused Yule to retch.

--

Tyre kept his 'min in a soldid formation, shields out, fighting with whatever weapons they had left. Many were wounded, their chainmail and heavy coats torn in some places, and were bleeding openly.

"Fall back, fall back to the inner circle!" cried the sergeant, waving his axe in the air. Marnamians were sweeping through the remaining warriors, driving them back into their own fires and hewing their bodies even as they lay dead. A yellow soldier flung himself over the shields of the other warriors and tried to get his sword around Tyre's neck, but the sergeant wrapped his arms around him and threw him to the ground, burying his axe all the way in the soldier's chest before wrenching it back out with a sickening _slurch!_ Nearby a Marnamian tackled a Velosian warrior and plunged a knife into his side, even as the red pikmin dealt him similiar grevious wounds with a broken sword. Blood shone black in the firelight.

Tyre's brave circle of warriors struggled through the growing throng of Marnamians. Seeing that they would be cut off and stopped dead in their tracks, Tyre gave a loud battlecry. "Break formation! Run for it!"

Almost at once the warriors hacked at their attackers and then made a desperate break for the inner circle. There, they could see well over a score of fresh warriors, and their mighty captain B'lard.

Tyre felt a heavy blow to his left arm and stumbled, but caught himself and brained a Marnamian with his axe. A sword flashed out and sliced open another pikmin's leg, but he reached out and steadied him, throwing his arm around his shoulder and scrambling between the sharpened stakes the last few paces to the inner circle.

"Get inside, go, go!" ordered the sergeant as the last few of his 'min made it up and over the smaller palisade, but even as he called these last few words a multitude of hands grabbed him by his heavy coat and pulled him backwards, throwing him to the ground. Tyre roared in agony as a sword flayed open his face, swinging his axe and felt it split something solid, but knew no more.

--

Yule threw down the courageous warrior, his sword wet with the sergeant's blood, and turned to the inner palisade. With an effort, he roared, "Over the barricade, take none alive!" The soldiers rushed the small palisade and its sharpened stakes. They screamed victory, but Yule only thought of the slaughter that was taking place.

Inside the ring of timbers and sharpened stakes about a score and ten Velosians remained; a third of what the battle had started with. Yule set his jaw. If he was to see this battle ended, he would have to fight for it.

With a cry, he flung himself against the palisade, slick with the blood of slain Marnamians who had tried before him, and with a monumental effort hauled himself up and over it.

Inside the ring it was chaos and confusion as warriors strove against the endless tide of Marnam soldiers. A towering captain, sword red like his skin with the blood of yellow pikmin, bellowed like a bull Bulblax and clove through a Marnamian's skull clear down to his jawbone. Without thinking, Yule lunged forward, deflected a warrior's sword and pushed him back with the battered Marnam shield, and drove his spear deep into the Velosian captain's side.

A spear cracked over Yule's head and the last thing he saw was the morning sun glaring out from behind the clouds...

--

B'lard gave a gasp of pain as the spear ran through his side and out the other. His vision swam and his legs buckled; B'lard fell to one knee. The pain was overwhelming, his life-blood pouring into the snow... With a mighty effort, he raised himself to his feet and, snapping the spear off in his side and pulling his sword from a dead Marnamian's face, sliced another foe from ear to jaw.

Slaughter.

It was what he lived for.

----

**And there you have it. Another character, this time on the Marnamian's side, and a whole lot of carnage and gore. I'm sorry that it makes no sense for B'lard to give up his life, and the lives of ninety good warriors, just to hold off the desperate Marnam army for one night. So here's a few factors: he was getting old, he wanted to go down fighting, he wanted to buy time, he thought he could do enough damage to drive the yellow pikmin back for at least a little while, and he was very, very stubborn.**

**R&R.**


	12. Execution

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own pikmin and this is not a ripoff of Ferahgo's "Pikmin: ----" stories. This is simply fanfic material and should be treated as such.**

**Fanfiction is the scourge of mankind! I should know, I do practically nothing but write it nowadays. Well, here it is, another peculiar chapter of the ultra-violent A Life of War. This time we feature a bunch of rambling, gratitious violence and senseless drama! Also, a certain Captain who just won't just shut up and fucking die already. Geez!**

-----

For a minute Yule had trouble recognizing his surroundings. Then the stench of death reached his nostrils and the events of the battle immediately rushed back to him. With a start, he sat up and surveyed the area with his one good eye.

He was still within the inner circle, but the environment had changed much since he had last seen it. The palisade was partially torn down, and dozens of wretched bodies sprawled bonelessly where they had fallen; there were numerous Marnam yellows hanging limp over the barricade, little rivulets of blood glistening in the morning sun. The heavy body of a Velosian lay half-frozen in his lap, cold, sightless eyes staring up at him with an expression of anger and hatred.

Disgusted, Yule shoved the corpse to one side and pulled himself painfully to his feet. For a minute his vision swam and went hazy; he almost lost it and tumbled back to the ground.

By this time Yule could hear the hushed voices and silent comings and goings of pikmin. He turned, and looked out at the scene that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Scores of Marnamians were moving to and fro, carrying bodies and equipment to seperate piles and trying to clear out the area. The barricade had been almost completely destroyed, the spike pits partially filled in or used as graves.

But in the middle of it all sat four Velosians, surrounded by a small group of loafers. The red pikmin were down on their knees, ankles tied behind them. Three had their hands tied behind their backs, but the fourth didn't.

It took Yule a moment to realize why.

It was the Velosian Captain. The spear, now broken off, was still embedded in his side and a slight bulge revealed that it was ready to reveal itself on the other side. Blood covered the soldier, much of it his; a huge wound on his forehead was still bleeding, and his nose was broken. The Captain's right arm hung limp, nearly severed at the shoulder, so much so that it would have fallen off had his hands been tied together.

General Varek, commander of the Marnam army, stood in front of the captives. Next to him stood an aide, who supported him with one arm. Varek had once been one of the brightest and the best; tall, handsome, and cunning, he was the pride and joy of Marnam. But after the accident, he had always been... different.

For one, half his face was hidden by a mat of horribly scarred flesh. The twisted, ruined husk of a pikmin had only one real arm; the other was always curled up at his chest, shrunken and twisted horribly, two of the fingers severed. At times Varek would whimper and moan like an animal; but only his officers and aides ever heard him. He was still feared by his subordinates.

"You bastard!" yelled the Velosian Captain, struggling to stand and attack the General. "You ruinous Onion's bitch! I'll kill you!"

Yule was surprised and amazed at the terrible anger and loathing that tore fiercely at the Velosian. The other three pikmin, though they suffered less grevious wounds and were in a better position, looked half dead; like they would give in to the slightest pressure. And yet the fatally wounded Captain still wanted to fight, still struggled. This was a rare breed of warrior; Yule had once thought it exterminated from the world. Ah well, this was no better; the Velosian would die, and then there would be no more of his kind.

Varek wheezed, but looked unfazed at the Captain's insults and vicious hatred.

"Tell me, what is your name?" hissed the General after a few more moments of the Captain's shouting.

The Velosian immediately went silent, growling fiercely. Even from a distance Yule could tell that the good muscles still left in his tattered body, and there were still quite a few from what Yule could see in the tears of his chainmail, were coiled like a spring. At the slightest chance he would rise to his feet and attack.

"What is your name?" the General questioned again, slower and more deliberately this time.

"...B'lard." the Velosian finally growled. "Captain B'lard of Tynenburg."

The General chuckled softly, a grating, wheezing sound that could be heard even from where Yule stood.

"I wish there were more soldiers like you in the world. I remember, when I was younger, how they all had so much_ fight _in them, when there were no wars left to fight they would go out and fight the biggest and most dangerous monsters they could find. I guess that's why you're all so rare, now. I was like you, once, you know."

The General stopped to cough and hack violently. His aide steadied him and pulled his heavy fur cloak tighter.

"I was always a fighter," replied B'lard, his voice weaker now. He was still losing blood and the rush of adrenaline would not last much longer. "I killed pikmin with my bare _hands_ when I was your age! You sniveling little bastard, let me up and I'll show you! I'll kill you! I'll kill you!"

Varek began to tire of the tirade. His mangled left arm twitched ever so slightly.

Yule suddenly realized what was about to happen.

"Let him stand," the General ordered. Though his voice was weak, there was still a certain quality to it that commanded respect and leadership. When he spoke, everybody listened. "We shall see if he can make good of his oaths and curses."

The two strong soldiers that held the vicious warrior gladly let go and backed off. Even fatally wounded and with a great loss of blood the Velosian Captain was as strong, or nearly as strong, as two Marnam soldiers.

At first B'lard merely fell forward, catching himself on one arm. Weakened as he was, his arm gave out and he fell heavily on his wounded shoulder. Yule grimaced as the Captain lay in the snow. "It would be better if you cut my ropes," he growled, his voice raspy from yelling.

"Very well then," wheezed Varek. "Cut his fetters. Hurry up, we don't have all damn day..." he hacked violently for several seconds. "It's too damn cold up here..."

A soldier stepped forward, whipped out a sharp knife, and cut the ropes holding the Captain's ankles. Everyone stepped back, waiting for the Velosian to make a mockery of himself and finally give out.

And then, to everyone's amazement, he stood up.

Slowly, painfully at first, but he did it. B'lard pulled himself to his feet with an unimaginable ferocity and tenacity, a determination that bellied his impressively fatal wounds. Fresh blood colored the snow at his feet.

Varek took a slow, agonized step forward. He straightened, and held out his arms as best he could. The aide stepped back.

"Here I am, B'lard. Take me. Kill me."

With a savage roar, B'lard flung himself forward.

The crowd gasped. By now more had arrived to gawk and gape. Yule hurried over and thrust his way through, trying to get a better view of what was happening. When he finally got through, however, the situation had entirely changed.

B'lard was once again on his knees, his good left arm underneath him to steady himself. Varek stood in the same place he had stood earlier, unmoved. Yule gasped.

"Alright, he's had his fun. Kill them all."

In a flash four soldiers standing behind the captives wrenched their swords from their sheaths. The sound of metal against leather was amplified in the cold, mountain air. They stepped forward, the rising sun glinting from the blades.

The three captives who had remained silent through the whole ordeal bowed their heads. They had readied themselves to die. Apparantly, so to had captain B'lard, who remained still, gasping and heaving. Yule realized he was sobbing.

The first soldier stepped up behind B'lard and raised his sword above his head. But then, at the last moment, B'ard rolled over on his back and took the sword straight through his stomach. An audible groan of horror was heard from the gathering crowd.

Out of all the miracles of the world, this had to be the greatest, Yule thought as B'lard grabbed the soldier by the arm and pulled himself up to his knees. The guard, frightened out of his wits took a step back and watched with wide eyes. The other soldiers watched in abject terror, their own swords similiarly raised.

B'lard growled, blood dripping quickly from the tip of his nose into the snow. He grabbed the sword in his stomach with his hand, and with a horrible determination, pulled the blade out with a loud sucking sound. When he could no longer grasp the hilt, he took hold of the blade itself and pulled until his arm was trembling, sweat dripped from his brow, and blood dribbled from the palm of his hand.

Finally, the blade was out. B'lard looked at the soldier, who trembled with fear.

"Bastards..." he muttered, and swung the sword at the soldier's legs. With a cry the Marnamian fell heavily on his side, screaming for help and for mercy. The other soldiers, momentarily frozen, jumped to his aide, but it was too late. B'lard took the sword by the hilt and slammed the flat of the blade down on the Marnamian's head. Again, and again, and again.

Yule turned his head from the horrible sight as B'lard flattened the soldier's brains with his own sword, blow after blow.

When Yule looked back, B'lard lay dead, but not by the hands of the other soldiers, who slashed at him in vain. The soldier, his blood washing the snow away beneath his unrecognizable head, was also dead.

"What are you waiting for?" cried Varek, "If you want a job done, you must do it yourself."

The General was handed his aide's sword and was helped forward. The first of the remaining three captives did not even bother to look up. None of them had, not even when B'lard killed the soldier with his own sword. Varek, in one trembling right arm, raised his sword into the air and brought it down point first. The blade pierced the point where the Velosian's neck joined his shoulders, and drove deep. He left it there.

A second soldier stepped up behind a captive and drove his own sword into the Velosian the same way that Varek had done. He slid it out with a harsh sound that Yule recognized as the cutting of the breastbone.

The last captive was about to be executed, when Varek suddenly raised his good hand.

"Stop! Let this one live. He will be my... messenger." A coy glint appeared as Varek eye-smiled with his one eye.

The Velosian looked up with blank, staring eyes. Yule recognized him with a start as the warrior sergeant who he had caught trying to get the last of his 'min into the inner ring and thrown down. A long, gaping wound could be seen down his thighe, and his face had been flayed open by a sword or spearpoint. There was a spearhead broken off in his back.

"Tell them," and at this Varek pointed. Yule realized, with a catch in his stomach, what he was doing. "Tell them whatever you want. But tell them this: they will all die. All of them. I will have Velosia!"

He degenerated into a fit of hacking and coughing and was led away by his aide and several officers. The bonds of the Velosian were cut and he was hoisted to his feet, given a bloodied torn coat, and pushed him north. He walked away, limping and shambling like a zombie. It was if he already knew what to do.

Yule turned away and set to heaping the bodies.

----

**My, this took longer than I thought. Let's hope I don't have to make the next chapter so long. This was just too much for the story, but I guess it's as short as I could compress it. Ah well, it works and it stays.**

**R&R.**


	13. Why?

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own pikmin and this is not a ripoff of Ferahgo's "Pikmin: --" series. This is simply fanfic material and should be treated as such. Pikmin is owned by Nintendo/Myamito.**

**Now we finally break away from B'lard's last stand back to Tyvern. Here's the thing: this is only the beginning of the story. I'm shooting for around 100, maybe more, chapters. Actually, that probably just about fits the bill. One hundred and ten. As you can probably tell, most of them will be short. Yes, I know, B'lard's last stand was supposed to be a two-parter. It got extended.**

--

The sound of the axe against the tree rippled through the coniferous forest like shockwaves. The brawny red pikmin, sweat beading on his forehead, struck a second time. The wood splintered, a chunk split away. The crash of the axe sounded again.

It had been a month since B'lard's last stand and nearly as long since Tyvern's fight with Siers. Ever since then there had been a gradual decrease in morale; warriors degenerated into fighting each over the slightest offense. The garrison could hardly be called a defense force anymore. The warriors beat the other pikmin, harassed them, and pilfered from them.

As more time passed, and the village of Munberg had degenerated into a hangout for a roudy group of well over two hundred Velosian soldiers. Though Captain Meine remained with his core group of about fifty warriors, he often let his own 'min join in on the "fun."

Tyvern, however, was not so pliable. He despised a great deal of the other soldiers. Especially Siers, who had become a sort of gang leader for a pack of about a dozen or more toughs. They'd all come from the nearby village of Voberg, but they didn't wish to go back.

The tree gave a terrible groan and began to lean over. At the same time there was an ear-popping _crack_, and the tree toppled over into the ankle-deep snow. Little creatures darted to and fro, frightened that a Bulblax of old had returned to devour them.

Tyvern tied a rope around the base of the tree, securing it behind two sturdy limbs, and harnessed himself to it. He took a step forward and started to drag it through the snow, almost like a bulbmin would drag a sled. The going was tough, but so was he; after all, he was a soldier of Velosia.

So much had happened in the past month. News had reached them of the nation of Aphor to the northwest had recently allied itself with Marnam. The green bastards probably wanted a share of the spoils, now that much of Velosia was left vulnerable. General Flimnr was still away in the field, his forces split to guard the pass that lead to Fort Sgein, which was in the process of being rebuilt, and the mountain roads a bit to the north. Rumors said that the heads of several Velosians had been stuck on pikes outside of Sgein as a warning. Among them was B'lard's head, they said, his eyes torn out and his stem snapped off.

Tyvern wasn't sure whether or not he believed these rumors. The Marnamians were not known to be particularly fierce, anyway, not quite as fierce as Velosians, but then they were yellow pikmin. They did not have the same sturdy body build.

For a moment Tyvern wondered if Flimnr would call Meine away from Munberg with most of the garrison. If so, he might be able to stay with the small reserve force and help get things back in order. The village's trade had been severely strained, what with so many thieves among the soldiers ready to mug a defenseless shop keeper at the slightest chance.

Then Tyvern wondered why this damn war had even started at all.

--

**There you go. Even Tyvern doesn't know exactly why the Velosians are fighting. He's not exactly a politician, of course. There will be blue pikmin, from Botor across the river Skien, and green pikmin, from Aphor on the other side of the mountains. And somebody is pulling the strings...**

**R&R.**


	14. The Council

**I finally updated (huzzah!). However, it would appear that his new chapter brings more questions than answers...**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own pikmin and this is not a ripoff of Ferahgo's "Pikmin: --" series.**

--

Atop a high bluff sat a dark, forboding castle. Lightning flashed, revealing the iron cages that lined the road, all filled with the ghastly remains of pikmin. Tall spirse loomed menacingly, topped with iron spikes that caught the lightning and transfered it into the castle itself, where it would be harnessed and twisted for means unknown.

This was Kalganthk, Temple of the Star Gods.

Harbinger of doom.

Seated on a sturdy bulbmin steed, a small, hunched pikmin sat wrapped in the heavy folds of a cloak. Again lightning flashed, illuminating the land for miles around. Still the small pikmin urged its bulbmin forward, up the winding path lined with the cages, up and up the cliff face and finally to the stone ramp built decades before. Large machines, some broken, lined the causeway. The pikmin did not notice.

Finally the pikmin reached the huge iron gates. Two bent, ragged figures appeared out of the shadows and helped the cloaked pikmin off its steed, and led it away. The pikmin entered through the gates, which creaked open slowly against the wind. He entered Kalganthk.

--

Twelve figures were seated around a large, rectangular table, stained with wine and ancient meals. Each bore a red badge on their cloak; the Red Star. The symbol of the Star God. A thirteenth chair sat empty.

"What news from the north?" one of the hooded pikmin asked. Large, gnarled purple hands were wrapped in the folds of the figure's cloak.

"Velosia is still at war with Marnam, but there is a lull in the fighting. In the meantime, Aphor readies to field an army, and Botor attacks from across the Skien as we speak."

"And Varek?"

"Our tool has been forced to pull back and gather his forces for another push."

"Good." the lead figure tapped a heavy finger against the wood of the table. "What of the south?"

A third figure spoke this time, tall and thin, with long bony fingers that drummed rapidly against the table. "The Council's long arm has swept aside all toadmin resistance. Garth is on the brink of a civil war, with but one outcome. Soon we will have a mighty empire at our fingertips, but it will take some time."

"Excellent." the lead figure pointed at a small, hunched pikmin at the other end of the table. "Give us your report, Sirl."

The small pikmin steepled his fingers together and seemed to hesitate. "There is both bad news and good news. The Order of the Flower continues to topple my... our, efforts to bring them under control. They are fierce fighters, Milod, and determined. Perhaps..."

The large lead pikmin slammed a heavy fist into the table. Wine glasses shook and a mug full of ale toppled over. "I will not have excuses, Sirl! The Gods demand control of the east! Tickle the factions, make them suspect one another. Take your time, but be warned; failure is not an option! The Council gives you full access to any resources you may need."

The small pikmin bowed his head in respect and sat quietly.

One by one the other members of the Council made their reports. Some were satisfactory, some were not. Quiet comments and drink refills were made. Dark, obediant servants scuttled around the room at an order, and then returned to their dark niches.

"My friends," stated the lead pikmin, throwing back his hood to reveal a thick, hairy face. "It has been two years since we last conveyned. A toast."

The various members of the council raised their glasses and mugs in honor.

"Now, as Head of this Council, I hereby declare..."

"Milod, sir... A chair remains empty. One of our one is not in our midst. Perhaps we should wait until Deka arrives before we begin discussions?"

The purple pikmin, Milod, waved his hand. "Hold your tongue, Fedka. It may be hours yet before Deka arrives, and we have already spent the better part of a night on reports. Let us..."

Quite suddenly, a door at the far side of the room flew open and the thirteenth member of the Council strode into the room, a brilliant sword hanging from his hip. Each step was made with the utmost care, but without a moment's thought, filled with purpose but without wasting any energy. The tall pikmin, peach in color, immediately sat in his chair and threw back his hood.

"Ah, Deka." the purple pikmin spoke with a slight tinge of loathing in his voice, almost indescernible. "The thirteenth chair is filled. As Head of this Council, I hereby declare this meeting begun. Make your report, Deka."

The quiet peach pikmin nodded silently, and then jumped to his feet, hand on sword. "My friends, it has been more than two years since we all sat in this hall. I tell you, my ventures and journeys have gathered much information."

He paused.

"But I have found something. Something irrefutable. It cannot be ignored."

The pikmin pulled a bundle from his cloak and tossed it on the table in front of Milod. It was large and heavy.

"Last winter I learned of an ancient site somewhere in Be'en. For a long, long time I searched, but found nothing. Then I came across this."

He pulled a small, jagged piece of metal from a pouch and held it up for the Council to see.

"By the Stars!" gasped Sirl, leaning forward to get a better look. "The Red Star!"

It was true. The Star was engraved on the metal.

Milod scoffed. "What do you seek to prove, Deka? So the mark of our order has been scratched into the surface of a bit of iron. What of it?"

Deka tossed the metal in front of him.

"Not iron. Not of any metal in our records, or ever before seen."

Milod fingered the metal, gasping when it cut his finger. A drop of blood spilled onto the engraving, filling the Star with blood and coloring it red, the color of the emblem upon his breast. "It's still sharp! You must have made this yourself!"

Deka shook his head. "No. Look into the package."

Shaking his injured finger, Milod opened the package and looked into it. His eyes widened.

"But... but these tablets were destroyed centuries ago!"

"No. They were hidden. By our own order!"

Deka swept an arm about the room. Several of the Councilmembers cringed.

"Don't you see? This is proof! We have been living a lie, for millinia. And now we are paying for it."

The peach pikmin turned on his heel and swept out of the room, leaving the strange metal and the ancient tablets behind.

Milod stared at the metal and then picked it back up.

"What is it?" questioned one of the pikmin breathlessly.

"Starmetal."

--

**The plot thickens...**

**R&R**


	15. Watching

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own pikmin and this is not a ripoff of Ferahgo's "Pikmin: --" series.**

**Last time on _A Life of War_... the story has taken a turn for the worst, as it now appears that a fanatical order of religious zealots known as the Order of the Star (who worship the Star Gods) is in almost total control of the continent. With the nations of Botor and Aphor about to cross the River Skien and Mountains respectively to attack Velosia, can the red pikmin survive?**

--

Just outside of Munberg, atop a barren hill layered in snow, the giant watched. An iron helmet sat atop his head, and from it sprouted two curved horns that protected the sides of his face. Twin axes hung from his belt; the giant fingered one, his thick gloves running over the lovingly carved handle.

In the large village below the people went about their business, selling wares, chopping firewood, slaughtering food for the long winter ahead. Here and there in the streets, groups of soldiers could be seen, sometimes getting in fights, often picking on villagers for food or firewood.

"It's worse than I thought," mumbled the giant, stroking his chin with a huge hand.

A second giant appeared behind him, a huge two-handed sword slung across his back. "How so, if I may ask?"

The giant tightened his belt as he replied. "The garrison is made up of cheap, petty brawlers. Hardly any worth in them, if you ask me. It doesn't seem like any officers are trying to ease things up a bit. This village has always been ripe with trade... but the market's almost empty today."

The second giant nodded, his long red stem waving gently in the wind. "Orders?"

"Show of force. Column, four across, fifteen deep. Every warrior to be ready for a fight at a moment's notice."

The second giant saluted with his stem and walked away.

The first turned back to watch the village.

He fingered his axe...

--

**Dunh dunh dunnh... Is it a raid, a message, reinforcements... or is it war? Could it possibly be all of these? You'll have to wait to find out. Don't forget, anybody can review!**

**R&R**


	16. Introspection

**The plot thickens! Somewhat. Actually, it really doesn't go anywhere, so I'm posting Ch. 16 alongside this one. Why don't you aholes review?!**

**DISCLAIMER: this is not a ripoff of Ferahgo's "Pikmin: --" series, I do not own Pikmin or Nintendo, and (to Myamito) I am sincerely sorry for screwing up your characters.**

**-Myamito cradles twisted, shattered body of once cute-and-cuddly ideas-**

--

Tyvern slammed the axe home a final time, splitting the last block of wood in half. He quickly packed the pieces into the lee of the small house, protecting it from the wind and snow. The old pikmin handed him two small coins and thanked him profusely. Tyvern assured him that it was the least he could do, and he would gladly do it again at any time.

As the young soldier walked back to his barracks, the two coins jingling in his pocket and the axe thrown over his shoulder, he contemplated his life. Try as he might, things never seemed to go right with him. As a seedling he had nearly burned down a hut when he tried to cook a meal for the others. He had only been trying to help. He'd thought that being a warrior would make things simpler, allow him to get away from his constant bad luck... but apparantly not.

Suddenly there was a loud crash; it came from nearby. Tyvern turned around and jogged toward the center of the commotion. What was going on?

The gate in the wooden palislade had been thrown open, as if by considerable force from the outside. Pikmin were running about, several warriors were yelling at the tops of their lungs, and a wooden barrel had been smashed against the ground. Tyvern worked his way closer, pushing through several frightened villagers and soldiers.

"What is the meaning of this?!" someone cried.

Tyvern suddenly came into the open and found himself standing three feet away from a giant wrapped in heavy fur cloaks and wearing a horned helmet. Huge warriors, taller and mightier than he had ever seen before, were crowded all about, knocking over barrels and generally roughing up the populace. Captain Meine was making violent gesticulations and waving wildly at the air. He had a sword in his hand.

"As Captain of this Garrison, I command you to state your business or--"

A huge hand shot out, enveloping Meine's forearm in a crushing grip.

"My name is Brom, commander of the Mother Onion's Berserkers. And as commander of the Berserkers, I command you to stand down and settle your Garrison!"

Meine gave a cry of pain and tried to wrench away. The towering berserker responded by tightening his grip and dragging the officer closer.

"That's an order, Captain!"

The Captain nodded violently. The berserker released him, contemptuously, and shoved him back. The sword dropped to the ground lay there, forgotten.

Suddenly a massive hand grabbed Tyvern by the shoulder and spun him around. A towering warrior, one of the Berserkers, stood staring down at him. An enormous broadsword was strapped to his back.

"Hey!" yelled Tyvern as the berserker shoved him into a pile of wheat sacks. The giant reached down and snatched his wood axe away, then snapped the handle like a toothpick.

"Hey, I need that!" yelled Tyvern, attempting to scramble back to his feet. The berserker shoved him back down.

"Need it for what, huh? To bully the innocent?" The berserker shoved him again, harder this time. Tyvern responded by balling up his fist and drawing it back to punch. The next thing he knew a massive hand was racing toward his face. Tyvern distinctly remembered that there was a large scar on the ring-finger's knuckle, and then...

--

**Why oh WHY is no one reviewing? I have buttloads of hits, and no reviews. It's driving me BONKERS! GAAAAH!**

**...Read and Review, or maybe Myamito is really pissed at me and he's going to kick my ass with his wire-fu skills and super triple jumps...**


	17. Berserkers

**Ah yes, another chapter that is too long for my artsy-fartsy style. Eat it!**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own pikmin and this is not a ripoff of Ferahgo's "Pikmin:--" series.s**

--

Stars burst in front of Tyvern's eyes as he stumbled wildly about. It felt like his face was on fire!

"Ungh," the young pikmin moaned, blood flowing down his face.

Someone yelled "Fitch!"

And that was all he could remember.

--

Tyvern blinked and opened his eyes. Or tried to, anyway. The entire right side of his face was incredibly swollen and it felt like his eyelids had been crusted together with dried blood. Again the pikmin blinked and tried to focus on his surroundings.

Several dark, blurry figures were kneeling over him. Someone was speaking.

"He's coming around. Should be alright. Damn Fitch! Why'd you have to hit him so hard?"

One of the blurry silhouettes made a shrugging movement. Tyvern could vaguely make out the sword strapped to his back. "Hey, he was gonna hit me. I had to act first."

The berserker put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, need a hand?"

"Fuck you," spat Tyvern, shoving him off. Strong, firm hands gripped him by the shoulders and held him down.

"Watch who you're talking to!" ordered a low, gravelly voice. "Some people kill for less than that."

Tyvern groaned. "What's going on, anyway?"

The hands released him and a couple of the figures walked away. Tyvern could make out a few details now, but colors were bursting before his eyes and his head throbbed fiercely.

"...should tell you all you need to know."

_Fuck_, thought Tyvern, _I missed what he was saying!_

The pikmin considered asking the towering berserker what he had said, then thought better of it. "Whatever. Just leave me alone."

The berserker stood up and walked away, a heavy two-handed battleaxe held loosely in his right hand. Tyvern got the impression that he didn't give a shit about him.

After struggling to his feet, Tyvern realized that he was in Captain Meine's log house. A warm fire was crackling in the hearth, and a vat of stew was boiling inside it. The skin of a Hairy Bulborb was spread across the floor; Tyvern had practically been dumped on top of it. At least it was soft...

There was a basin of lukewarm water in the corner, with a rag. Tyvern carefully wet his right eye and removed the sticky blood that had his eye jammed shut. His upper eyelid had been split and there was a substantial deal of blood plastered to his face from his nose.

"Fuck!" the pikmin cursed mentally as his eye and nose started bleeding again. He took some gauze and wrapped it tightly around his head to close his eye, and plugged his nose with a bit of the now-bloodstained cloth.

Suddenly a door opened and the heavy foosteps of a giant announced the presence of another Berserker. The pain of the punch still on his mind, Tyvern checked his belt and found the knife he always carried with him was missing. He checked again. No knife.

"Looking for this?"

Tyvern jumped at the sound of the deep voice. The massive commander of the Berserkers (what was his name again?) was standing on the large grey rug at the center of the room. He was holding the knife by the hilt. It looked like a child's toy in his hands.

"Thanks," said Tyvern, grudgingly. The giant handed him the knife.

"The name's Brom. The full title is Two-Axe." He gestured to the two large battleaxes that hung at his sides.

"Tyvern," replied the smaller pikmin. Brom towered more than a head taller than him.

The berserker disappeared into a seperate room for a minute, then reappeared carrying two heavy oaken chairs. He sat them on the rug and gestured for Tyvern to sit in one of them. Not willing to insult the berserker, Tyvern hastily sat down. Brom, however, eased himself into the chair. It creaked loudly under his weight. Tyvern noted the size of his biceps.

"It's the drug," stated the berserker calmly. He flexed a little and a vein popped out in his arm. "Prolonged use builds muscle mass."

Tyvern cocked his leaf to the side. "What drug?" He'd always heard that Berserkers flew into wild rages at the slightest infraction (something he regretted forgetting when he'd tried to punch Fitch). It was said they couldn't be killed in such a state.

"It's called Veager. We use it to go into a Rage." He pulled out a small flask and handed it over. "Careful, don't smell. You'll probably pass out." Tyvern nodded and handed the flask back.

"What's it made of?" questioned Tyvern.

"Clover, tree sap, but mostly Ultra-Spicy Berry."

Tyvern nodded and relaxed his stem.

"Anyway," said the large red pikmin, leaning back a little in his chair. It creaked dangerously. "As you're probably wondering, we're here to restore order. The Mother Onion wishes to... reestablish trade. We've always relied on Munberg for it's supply of clover-beer."

"Beer?"

"Yes, beer. To put it bluntly it's, ah, in short supply in Komberg. The Mother Onion thought it best to get a steady supply going again, before the big snowstorms cut us off."

Tyvern nodded. "But that isn't why I'm here, is it?"

"No."

--

**Ah yes, the small island of South Padre... at least, I think it's an island. It is an island right? Oh god, I'm going on a vacation to a place that I know absolutely nothing about! Gah!!**

**...Read & Review, or I will sick my angst up super-pikmin fan-characters on yo ass!**


	18. B'lard

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own pikmin and this is not a ripoff of Ferahgo's "Pikmin: --" series. I decided that the _actual_ ripoff (read: The South) sucked so many eggs that I would have to come up with my own universe, or continue to write abominable fanfiction about fanfiction.**

**Hey all, I learned a new word today! Sadly, I could not find a place to use it in this chapter. Hopefully, the next!**

**_Invective -An expression which inveighs or rails against a person; a severe or violent censure or reproach; something uttered or written, intended to cast opprobrium, censure, or reproach on another; a harsh or reproachful accusation; -- followed by against, having reference to the person or thing affected; as, an invective against tyranny._**

--

Tyvern fingered the gauze on the side of his face nervously. Brom Two-Axe stared silently.

"Well, um... what _do_ you want with me?"

"For starters, I was hoping you could, ah, tell me more about your commander."

"Who, Meine?" questioned Tyvern, sounding confused.

"No, not him. I mean B'lard."

Tyvern thought about this for a second.

"Well, I guess I really don't... _didn't_ know much about him."

Brom rubbed at his temples and sighed. "Look, all I need to know is how he was doing, his bodily condition. Tell me everything you can remember."

Tyvern scratched at the itch behind the gauze. "Well, he was doing well, I guess. He was in good condition physically, at least. I don't know. He looked like he was getting... old."

"He _was_ old," replied Brom forcefully. "He's been... he _had _been fighting for most of his life. His was an illustrious career. Left his menial farmwork at the age of twelve and worked odd jobs at Komberg, mostly for the soldiers stationed there. When he finally turned sixteen he joined the army, immediately got a reputation as a savage fighter at home with war.

"The war with Botor was in full swing by that time; B'lard got a piece of the action at the Battle of Breket. Because good soldiers were in such short supply at the time, and his reputation as a warrior, B'lard was dropped out of his unit and given to Captain Denvaf..."

Tyvern gasped. "You mean B'lard was part of the..."

"The Blood Swords," finished Brom impatiently. "Yes, he was part of the Blood Swords. He was so good, in fact, at fighting I mean, that he very quickly became Denvaf's Liuetenant. Of course, things weren't meant to go that way..."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," replied Brom in an angry tone, "That Denvaf was killed and the Blood Swords nearly wiped out! Now shut up! Anyway, having survived most of the Botirian war by this time, B'lard was now in his late twenties. He was in position to move up to the rank of Captain and lead his own force, maybe even make it to the rank of General, but... the loss of his mentor had broken him. A lot of good 'min died with the Blood Swords..."

Brom went silent for a moment, staring off into space as if recalling a long lost memory better left buried. He shook his head and continued.

"...Anyway, B'lard began drinking. Heavily. He probably would have ended up dead in some gutter or barfight had I not found him."

"You?" questioned Tyvern, surprised.

"Yes, me. B'lard was... well, to put it bluntly, he was probably the perfect Berserker. He had it all; control, skill, power, intelligence, and a furious temper for the Veager to exploit. Almost overnight B'lard was changed. He was back in his element, in the best fighting unit ever to grace the field of battle. He stormed the enemy like a Bulblax out of Gfal, ravaging entire companies, slaying champions, captains... That is, until the Battle of the Skien."

Tyvern sat enraptured as Brom told the tale of the terrible battle that had nearly cost B'lard his life... and his sanity.

"...B'lard had just recently taken a younger soldier under his wing. In a lot of ways he was just like B'lard; control, skill, power, intelligence... prime Berserker material. The young soldier was a furious fighter. They fought together... but at the Skien, things went horribly, horribly wrong.

"The General went in fighting, threw the entire front line at the enemy. Of course, the damned blues had their backs to the river, and that's never a good thing. We thought we could win; we'd been barelling through them for months. But... they pulled a trick on us. The bastards opened up their lines and charged through us... an incredibly foolhardy way to fight, and it cost them dearly, but they ended up surrounding us and putting _our _backs to the river..."

Brom bowed his head sorrowfully.

"What happened next?" questioned Tyvern softly.

"We damned well lost, that's what happened." Brom stared at Tyvern, his eyes like burning coals. He stood to his feet. "Hundreds died that day! My best Berserkers, torn apart by sheer weight of numbers... it was close to near total obvlivion. B'lard and his young pupil were buried up in fighting, dogpiled by scores of blues, both wounded beyond recognition... most of B'lard's scars came from there. The young soldier died... B'lard didn't. He blamed himself... and then quit the Berserkers."

Tyvern felt shock at hearing Brom's perspective of the battle at the Skien. He had always been taught that the Velosian army was surrounded by an army ten times their size, but went down in a blaze of glory and killed nearly every blue soldier. He'd never known the true story... never known that B'lard was there...

"In case you're wondering," stated Brom bluntly, "The young soldier's name... was Tyvern."

--

**If this is what the world has come to, why do I bother even getting up in the morning? Anyway, to those who care, I'm going to partially rewrite The South (you know, make it more faithful to the original story (read: Ferahgo), because it deserves that much), and to make it less... angsty. Because it comes across as buttass stupid (for lack of a better word, I made my own).**

**Thank you, now please _Read & Review_ before an angry Miyamoto beats my fing brains out with his fing nunchuks. 8D**


	19. Preparation

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own pikmin and this is not a ripoff of Ferahgo's "Pikmin: --" series. If you're looking for that ripoff, it is currently titled "Pikmin: The South" and is wasting space in the 'Rated T' section as of this writing.**

**Ah yes, chapter placement issues. We all know and love them. I'm sure LAZR CAT knows what I'm talking about... Yes, you heard me. I misplaced one of my chapters (the one introducing the Berserkers on top of the hill) and never posted it. I realized this and reposted all of my chapters with the new one in place, but accidently posted CH 17 twice. So then I had to repost CH 18... gah.**

**FANFICTION IS THE SCOURGE OF MAN!**

--

The war camp surrounding the village was a blaze of activity. Hundreds upon hundreds of yellow pikmin filtered through the tents and buildings. Soldiers worked feverishly to forge weapons and stockpile them in armories. Companies drilled in the village square, fitted armor and sharpened their tools of war. Villagers ran back and forth, selling out cloth and food supplies or giving them away. Workers hurried to patch old banners and sew new ones; officers handed over their standards to be repaired.

Yule wiped the sweat from his brow and continued to feed coal into the forge. The younger soldier that was in charge of this job had been scalded to death, so the blacksmith had called upon Yule. He was more experienced anyway, and had worked in such conditions before. The smith continued to hammer away at swords while his assistants poured the molds for arrowheads and spears.

A soldier pushed his way into the tent pushing a heavy wheelbarrow of spear and arrow shafts. He called for Yule.

"Sir, the Captain requests your presence!"

Yule nodded and tossed the coal-shovel to the soldier, who began feverishly scooping more coal into the forge. The older pikmin made for the tent flap.

The blast of cold air that hit Yule in the face as he stepped outside was surprising. He realized he had left his coat inside the forge, but decided not to go back in to get it. He was sweating heavily and needed the cold air.

Moving at a brisk pace the veteran soldier made for Captain Yelah's quarters. It was just another small tent, with a cot and some equipment inside, but then again most soldiers didn't have anything other than blankets. Yule stepped inside.

"You called, sir?" asked Yule in a gruff voice, saluting with his stem and placing a fist on his chest. The Captain was poring over reports from his liuetenants, and did not hear him. Yule tried again.

"Sir, you called?"

Yelah jumped slightly and turned around. He was young, much too young for the position of Captain (at least, in Yule's opinion), but at least he had been on the Velosian campaign. He had at least a little experience.

"Ah yes, my Quartermaster. Take a seat." Yelah quickly cleared the paperwork off his cot and gestured to Yule to sit. Yule noticed that he looked especially tense and high-strung.

"As you well know, Quartermaster," began Yelah.

"It's Commanding Grunt, sir," corrected Yule. "I'm only Acting Quartermaster while Vadla recovers."

Yelah nodded and continued. "Right, Commanding Grunt. Ok. Look... we're behind schedule and strained to the limit. We have until tomorrow before the General makes his next push. We need... uh... boots. Coats, heavy ones. And... uh..."

"Wheels for the carts," finished Yule. "I can handle it, sir."

He reached over and put a hand on the Captain's shoulder. "Look, Yelah. You're putting too much stress on yourself. Leave the details to your men. Just sit in here, and get some rest."

"That's some damn good advice," came a deep voice. Yule felt Yelah jump.

Commander Lenevah stepped inside the tent, his scarred jaw tight and set. He surveyed the condition of Yelah's quarters; the half-finished reports on the floor and the table, the sputtering lamp, the overturned food tray. His gaze returned to Yelah and Yule, who by now had stood and where saluting; half-cocked stem, fist on chest.

"I've known Yule for two years, Captain" stated Lenevah gruffly. "Leave him your unit, and I damn well guarantee you that by tomorrow he will hand it back to you finely tuned like a music master's finest instrument." The Commander turned to Yule. "You can handle everything, I trust?"

"Yes sir," replied Yule humbly.

"Good."

Lenevah bent down and scooped up some of the paperwork, then handed it to Yelah. "You concern yourself with the division paperwork. The Commanding Grunt can handle the rest."

"Yes sir," replied Yelah stiffly, holding his salute well beyond necessary.

Lenevah nodded and left the tent.

As Yule gathered the paperwork and stepped outside, he briefly wondered how he was going to whip everything back into shape within twelve hours...

--

**Getting back to Yule. I feel he is an interesting character with a ton of potential in him, capable of going damn well anywhere at this time. I created the character simply to ease the writing of B'lard's Last Stand, and for the reason that it felt like a good idea. Now we can explored the Marnamians a little more... And next chapter we reveal General Varek up close and personal...**

**Please READ & REVIEW, because _apparently_... i aM a FaNbOy hO hAs NoThInGt o Do bUtT sTi Ta HaOmE aLl AdAY. Oo**


	20. Rare indeed

**Yay, an update. Took long enough. But no Yule... ah well, Varek is so fun to torment! ;P**

**DISCLAIMER: you know the drill. I don't own pikmin nor Nintendo, nor anything else except this bog-forsaken story.**

--

Varek's ruined arm twitched violently. He gripped it, held tightly. Pain wracked his side.

"Are you alright, sir?" asked the Aide, offering another blanket. Varek waved him off.

"_Ut calidus est_!" hissed the General, pulling the two blankets he already had closer to his chest.

"Sir?"

Varek realized he had spoken in the language of the Stars.

"I'm hot enough already!" the General snapped as he pushed thoughts of insignifigance out of his mind.

The Aide put the blanket on the table and stepped out of the warm, glowing tent.

"Are you sure you're alright, sir?" asked Commander Lenevah, furrowed face drawn and pale. "We can--"

"Shut up!" hissed Varek, drawing further back into his oaken chair. His eyebrow twitched rapidly. "We have only until tomorrow, then must leave..."

He degenerated into a fit of hacking coughs.

The three Commanders exchanged glances, then looked back to Varek. Beneath his thick blanket, his mangled left arm began to twitch spasmodically once more.

"How many 'min do we have, all total?" questioned Varek, leaning forward slightly to look at the map on his desk. Commander Felmowhr answered the question.

"Exactly ninety thousand seven hundred, sir." He raised himself to his full height, his flower nearly scraping the ceiling of the large tent. Amongst the yellow pikmin, Felmowhr was a giant; he towered two heads taller than Lenevah.

"And the Velosians?"

"All but two of our spies have been caught and executed," stated the young Commander Yalkehf. "All we know is that there are roughly ten thousand in the Munberg valley, but the bulk of their forces are concentrated in the north. Their General, Flimnr, is in the process of rebuilding Fort Sgein, and building defenses in the southernmost villages."

"Good enough." Varek produced a small flask, took a sip from it, and replaced it in the folds of his blanket. "How soon can we regroup--" he coughed loudly "--How soon can we regroup with the rest of the army?"

"Just outside the Pass, sir," stated Lenevah. "Surely you wouldn't... Sir, we'd be slaughtered! Concentrating all of our forces in a tiny pass is--"

"I know what it is!" roared Varek, suddenly rising from his chair. The flask of liquor clattered onto the table, spilling a red fluid across the map. "Godammit!" the General roared, gripping the table and flipping it end over end. The Commanders jumpd back, stricken with fear, and huddled against the far wall of the tent.

Varek continued to lash out, smashing his oaken chair to the bulborb-skin rug. "Damnit!" he screamed, "Damnit!" The General collapsed to his knees, the thick blanket trailing off of his shoulders to lie in a heap around his legs. "Damnit," he sobbed, his stem limp against the floor.

"Sir," began Yalkehf, reaching down to help his commander to his feet. "Are you--"

"Get off me!" screamed Varek, slapping the hand aside. He screamed, wildly, the veins in his neck bulging. The ruined pikmin placed a hand beneath him and struggled to regain his feet, but collapsed in a sodden mess of tears and sobbing.

"Come," whispered Lenevah, "We must go." He ushered his two fellow Commanders out of the tent, before returning to his general and handing him the half-empty flask off the floor. The ruined yellow pikmin downed it in one gulp and lay still, curled in a fetal position. Lenevah carefully took the blanket and lay it over the General's shoulders, then left the tent. The Aide passed him on the way out, flanked by two other Aides.

Lenevah marveled at the rare occurance, when the General's power unleashed itself on the occupants of the tent. It was rare for Varek not to kill everything in sight.

It was rare occurance indeed, when the bodies of the Commanders were not torn to shreds and strewn across the inside of the tent.

--

**Oh yay, I finally updated. And it was so short that by the time your brain processed the fact that I'd posted this chapter, you'd read it five times. Good god, fanfiction is the scourge of man...**

**Read & Review (ESPECIALLY REVIEW) or Varek will unleash his scary "powers" on you that turn you into a red gooey mess!**


	21. Treachery!

**Finally updated. Just so you know, this chapter takes place in Botor, but with red pikmin. Next chapter will take place on the opposite side of the River Skien, at the exact same time, but with blue pikmin. Destruction, murder and treachery. Just like modern real-life politics!**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything except the world this is based in. Everything else Nintendo.**

--

Trade with Botor was very important to Velosia's economy, being far better farm land. As such, the two nations always kept merchants and soldiers in one another's closest cities; for Botor, it was Washva, while for Velosia it was Skielth. The Velosians always made sure they had one unit of warriors in Washva, to supplement the merchants. The Botirians, very nearly controlling trade as it were, kept to a similiar policy in Skielth.

As of late, neither side had been getting along. Political parties chafed, the ties between the rival nations leading more and more to near-violent competition. Three Velosian merchants were murdered in Washva, and though the bodies were recovered, the blue pikmin refused to do anything about the murderers. Two blues were assaulted in Skielth shortly afterwards; the three red pikmin involved, farmers, were beaten to death within the blue embassy. Trade waned, food stopped coming over the Skien. The Mother Onion, from the fearsome fortress known as Komberg, dispatched a group of ambassadors and a bodyguard of many of Her best warriors.

Godbor, Chief Ambassador, made sure to keep his hand on the hilt of his sword as he and the rest of the red pikmin stepped out of the boat. The red pikmin stationed in the Washva Embassy quickly helped the ambassadors and their bodyguard onto the docks and escorted them inside. Blue pikmin in the streets seemed to scatter, casting hateful glares and calling insults from within alleys. Captain Bregga, commander of the Elite Bodyguard, formerly known as the Blood Swords, growled. Like Godbor, he kept his hand on the hilt of his sword. His 'min did the same.

After a quick waste of time spent in the Washva Embassy, the ambassadors and their guards stepped outside into the Market Square. Here, blue pikmin could be found in great abundance, from aged and dimming fishermin to energetic seedlings. They cast poorly disguised glares at the Velosian merchants and soldiers that milled in the south-eastern corner, close to the river.

"It's unusually quiet," muttered Lieutenant Storth, commanding officer of the small unit of warriors in Washva. Godbor cast a quick glance around and realized that the red pikmin were surrounded by blue pikmin, far more hostile than ever before. The air seemed to crackle with anticipation, as if two opposing armies had been drawn up against one another on the field of battle.

Three blue pikmin stood in the center of the Market Square, surrounded by many more blues. The first blue stood tall and proud, his gaze condescending. He wore a warm white cloak that he had folded over his left arm. A sword-hilt could be seen, brazenly displayed on the left side of the pikmin's belt. The two other pikmin appeared to be bodyguards, wearing chainmail hauberks and carrying spears. Arming swords could be seen at their belts. _Why are they wearing this armor?_ thought Godbor, _Blues wear leather and padding._

"Greetings," stated the tall blue pikmin wearing the white cloak. He did not bow. He did not seem to be greeting anybody.

"Our Mother Onion sends Her regards," replied Godbor tersely. "She wishes to know why you have grown hostile and are stopping trade."

Several sneers greeted the red pikmin. Hands tightened on swords. A rising sense of anticipation began to build, a storm that hung over the heads of the entire Market. Godbor kept his hand inside his cloak, on his own sword, and made sure to glare into the blue pikmin's eyes.

"We have new trade options," the blue pikmin replied, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Openly hostile. "The Mother Onion has decided not to waste Her valuable resources on bickering murderers."

Captain Bregga and his 'min snarled. Godbor was becoming aware of an increasingly large presence of blue pikmin on all sides... and he could see that many had rocks in their hands. He returned his gaze to the blue pikmin.

"Very well. If you wish to be hostile and rude about it, we will withdraw. You shall receive no more steel or iron."

There were several laughs in the crowd. The sense of rising hatred and anticipation was eating away at Godbor's insides. His fellow ambassadors were shifting nervously, something that most blues in the crowd probably couldn't detect.

"We do not need your metal," spoke the tall blue pikmin. "And you are acting hostile against the Mother Onion. We will have no more of this, and your violence against our people will come to an end as of now." He displayed his sword. "We will not tolerate your desecration of our city and nation, Velosians."

Now Godbor shifted his dark cloak to the side and displayed his own sword, glaring hatred at his opponent. They shifted their stances. As much as Godbor would like to avoid violence, he could see it was inevitable. The blue pikmin wanted blood... The Velosians had been crossed. He had noticed that these blues spoke of their Mother Onion as "The", instead of the customary term of "Our"... As if refusing to acknowledge the Velosian Mother.

"Bastard," hissed Godbor. "Your politics are just a cover. You declare war on Velosia!"

The blue pikmin roared in fury and anger, threatening and displaying weapons. Soldiers began drawing weapons. The tall blue politician screamed aloud, pointing and opening his eyes wide as if to show hurt and shock... Godbor could see through this guile. The blue pikmin was savoring this moment, he had expected it... and the Velosians had walked right into the trap!

"The barbarians declare war on the Mother Onion!" roared the pikmin pointing as soldiers began stepping forward. "Arrest them at once!"

But the Velosians knew that there would be no arrests... the blues planned to kill them all. Spears leveled against the red pikmin.

"Murderers and cheats!" roared Godbor, shoving a blue pikmin to the side and pulling out his sword. Roars and screams filled the air. "You threaten our people with death and mock our Mother! Ex dek am Veloza!"

Screams and roars erupted as the storm suddenly broke with all the violence and destruction of a hurricane. Hundreds of blue pikmin swarmed forward, throwing rocks, swinging whatever weapons they had at hand. Soldiers, surrounding the reds on all sides, attacked. Velosian Merchants pulled out swords and leaped over their stalls into the chaos, swinging their blades against the blues. Soldiers formed a tight knot, fighting off attacks from all sides.

Godbor sprinted forward, seeing rather than feeling the blade that struck his side, swinging his sword. The blue politician screamed and toppled, left arm falling seperately to the ground, white cloak tearing and rapidly becoming red, his ribs revealed. Captain Breggar roared, "Ex dek am Veloza!" killing the first of the two bodyguards with a sword swing that split him in half, blocking the spear of the second with his heavy shield. Blood stained his colored cloak as it was ripped, revealing the chainmail beneath. The red pikmin fought for their lives against a murderous mob.

For the first time in fifty years, blood stained the streets of Washva... And it ran thick.

--

**Leave a review, kiddos. That means you too, ye who are reading this. Did you know that only 1 out of 70 people that reads this story leaves a review? It's true. So that means you can't get away with reading and not reviewing, because I know; so far there are 697 hits (people reading the story), and only 29 reviews. Leave one, because I'm not updating when only one person reviews a chapter after something like two and a half months, and something like a hundred people read said chapter within the first month.**

**Next chapter to come soon, and this time I'm introducing blue pikmin characters. I'm going to make you hate blue pikmin. :)**


	22. Under Skieth

**Times are hard. Both in the story and in real life (because apparently my life sucks). The reason for this is simple: I crapped my effing pants when I tried to fart. Don't look at me like that! I've been violently sick! ...Ok, ok, TMI... Jeez...**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own pikmin. Please help me think of a name for this world so I can say I own that. "Thatia" perhaps? lol**

--

The city of Skieth was a veritable fortress, built on a spur of land that jutted out into the Skien at an angle. It had been created well over five hundred years ago, as a defense against the bloodthirsty nations across the river, of which only Botor survived, assimilating the blue pikmin of the other nations. Early in first Botirian war, it's walls had been destroyed and much of the city razed to the ground, but it had since been rebuilt to near its former glory. A smaller wall had been built further back in the city, a much more defensible position, surrounding most of the important structures in the city.

The Botirian Embassy was located next to the Skien, built upon solid rock so it would not be washed away by the cold river. A small wall had been built around it, at the behest of Botor... with the help of Velosians. Blues could often be seen sitting on their dock, fishing in the large but slow-moving river. Unlike Velosians, who prefered meats and nectar over all other food, the blue pikmin rarely ate anything other than fish. One of their key beliefs was that if a pikmin ate meat, it was commiting not only an atrocity, but a second murder. Fish was supposedly the holiest of foods.

Skurve sat fishing on the dock, two silvery fish in a wooden bucket next to him. It was nearing sunset, and on the other side of the river, the blue pikmin could see the beautiful sun setting over the tops of the tall Botirian buildings. Skurve felt something tug at his pole, and began to reel it in; his eyes stayed fixed on his home-city of Washva. The boat carrying the Velosians had long since returned to this side of the river, and yet the signal had still not gone up. The blue pikmin briefly wondered if anything had gone wrong, then pushed the thought from his mind. The Mother Onion would not be pleased with such blasphemous thoughts; the blue pikmin could not lose. It was impossible.

Suddenly a flag appeared on top of one of the buildings. Skurve strained his eyes and saw that the large flag, a light blue fabric, was being swung back and forth by a pikmin.

The signal.

Skurve grinned and dropped his latest catch, still flopping, to the dock and sprinted back into the Embassy. The two soldiers on either side of the door nodded as he passed, slapping him on the back before turning to look back through the door. They gripped their spears tightly, smiles on their faces.

As soon as Skurve was inside the walls, he began to yell "As mem Bodar! As mem Bodar!" Blue pikmin cheered and began running back and forth, grabbing weapons, armor, equipment. Lieutenant Desta, commander of the blue soldiers within Skieth, took Skurve's hand and shook it heartily, patting him on the back. He handed him a small parcel, water-proofed. "Do it now. Hurry!" he said, and turned back to the bell that hung over the wall. He called up to the pikmin who stood ready there. "Signal nightfall!" The bell-ringer nodded and struck the large bell with the butt of his spear.

_Klang ka-klang klang_.

In the Market Square, blue pikmin began to pack up their wares hastily, loading them onto their stalls and affixing wheels or unblocking them. A stream of the merchants began to pour back into the Botirian Embassy. As soon as the last was inside, the large solid wall doors closed and soldiers began hastily packing everything onto the boats tied to their dock. All the merchants and everything they had purchased was soon within the boats and they were quickly pushed into the river. Within minutes they would arrive back in Washva, while the soldiers remained behind.

Velosians, growing more and more suspicious, wondered why the blues would leave the Market before nightfall, while the sun was still setting, and move so hastily. They wondered why the boats were already moving across the river... all the boats. Few saw the signs and realized what was happening.

It did not matter.

Skurve dived into the river and swam as strongly as he could towards the tunnel dug into the rock, the sewers the blues had been paid to build under Skieth. Two blues already waited next to the hold, from which dirty water poured, and ushered Skurve in. He held his breath, closing his gills as he passed through the dirty water, not willing to suck in the sewage of hundreds upon hundreds of barbaric, uncleaned red pikmin. He pulled himself inside the hole, the water-proofed package trailing behind him. The two blue soldiers, wearing nothing more than light pants, slipped inside behind him.

After holding his breath for longer than he could take it, Skurve breathed deeply and immediately regretted it. The terrible taste and the awful water that filtered through his gills was enough to make him double up and gag in the tunnel, but he managed to stop himself and continued to swim.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, and several deep breaths taken from the awful water, Skurve and his two fellow blues emerged inside a large cavern, part of the not-so-solid rock that Skieth was built upon. From here on out the water was much shallower, but the smell still unbearable. The three pikmin slogged onwards, holding their breath whenever possible as they ducked through tunnels, swimming where necessary. Skurve began to feel light-headed, the gas inside the sewers had built up substantially, and one of his compatriots was beginning to show signs that he was soon to pass out.

"Hold... here..." choked Skurve, covering his mouth and moving forward. They had reached the Key-Hole, as it was called by the blues; a large hole in the rock named after it's shape. The two blue soldiers nodded and leaned against the slimy walls, gasping for breath. Skurve continued forward, stepping through the Key-Hole into a large, open room. The methane had built up so substantially in this room that Skurve was forced to hold his breath the entire time, his vision fading. A large mess of something was in his way, and he accidently waded through it; bulbmin feces. The Central Pens must be located above, where the Velosian workers stashed their bulbmin overnight. _Shit_, thought Skurve, _I've stepped in shit._ He chuckled, almost passed out, and took a few more steps forward.

On the uneven wall, just above a platform of rock, there was a large niche. Skurve stepped onto the rock, his bare feet slipping, covered in feces and excrement, and took the water-proofed package from around his shoulders. He was beginning to find it hard to hold his breath, and as fast as he could he tore the package open, revealing...

A timed explosive.

The yellow pikmin had provided this explosive, their merchants arriving by river in the south-eastern marshy region of Botor. It was built on the same principle as bomb-rocks; unlike most explosives, it did not need to be lit (because lighting anything down in the sewers of Skieth would have surely killed every pikmin inside instantly). It was bundled tightly, smaller than a bomb-rock but twice as explosive. Skurve struck the explosives against the wall, felt them begin to light up, and hurriedly shoved it into the niche. He felt his fingers brush the bomb-rocks that had previously been stuck in the niche, remembered all the others that had been hidden inside various areas of the sewers... And took off running.

As soon as he had dived out of the Key-Hole, Skurve took a mighty breathe, almost passing out from the gases in the air.

"Lets... Go!" gasped Skurve, finding his comrades half asleep against the wall and shaking them wildly. He dived under the water and began swimming, felt his fellow blues following close behind him, jumped up whenever possible and ran. At one point the resistance of the water against his legs caused Skurve to fall flat on his face, striking his arm against a rock, feeling waste smear across his face. The two soldiers grabbed Skurve under the armpits and dragged him to his feet as they ran.

"Hurry!"

Finally the blues reached the swimming-only portion of the sewers and began moving faster than ever. Skurve, his arm burning with pain, could barely keep up, seeing his comrades' feet disappearing around corners and bends. Finally he lost them ever, felt himself panicking and forced it down. He breathed deeply, ignoring the bad water; it was better than the stuff further back in the sewers.

_I wonder how much time I have..._ thought Skurve as he pulled himself around a bend. He could see light through the murky water just around another corner... the exit! He began to swim faster, and then...

Suddenly Skurve was filled with pain, his body grabbed by a crushing vice and crushed by sudden and devastating pressure as the water around him heated and propelled him faster than he could comprehend through the tunnel.

Time had run out.

--

**Boom explosion! Just a note, but since pikmin don't actually take dumps (if you know what I mean; I envy them, again if you know what I mean, grrr), it's their bulbmin and all the trash and stuff they dump in the sewers. Bulbmin are very messy creatures; they take the roles of horses and cows, with the bad traits of cows... Also, all that methane has nowhere to go since it can't go through water and the portion of the sewers leading into the river is entirely underwater. It's been building for years and years... and is highly volatile...**

**Just thought you'd like to know that all of this was apparently inspired by my mind after the "incident" (read above) I had before football practice on Monday... I so want to quit. I don't even like sports. It's all bullshit to me. READ AND REVIEW!**


	23. Explosion

**Updated again. So far, everybody who has read Chapters 21 and 22 have reviewed! I don't know if that's a completely good thing, but at least it's not completely bad. :P**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own pikmin. If I did, this is what you'd be playing: read it and weep. It is tearful, but at least I MADE IT!**

--

The explosion was aboslutely massive; for almost a hundred years, the sewers beneath Skieth had steadily filled with methane and other flammable gasses, most of their exits blocked when the smell became too unbearable. In most areas, there was so much gas that it became too heavy to lift out of open cracks in the city streets, or the grates. The Botirians had carefully mapped out the best locations for explosives and loaded those locations with bomb-rocks, provided by the Marnamians. When the timed-explosive went off... everything went to hell.

Instantly.

When Skurve planted the timed-explosive, he did not know that there were two leaflings standing just over his head in the bulbmin pens, cleaning out the stalls. They were at ground-zero... near the center of the city. The first was named Jeffa, calm and soft-spoken, never a leader. The seconed was Mard, loud and boisterous, the first to pick a fight, but strong and content with his job as "shit worker".

As Jeffa carefully groomed the large bulbmin in his pen, the personal war-mount of the city's Commanding Officer. Mard was busy picking at something between his bulbmin's toes, where an object had become lodged and was causing the poor creature great pain. It snuffled and groaned loudly, its eyestalks swivelling back and forth, its bud waving in the air.

"Damn you to Gfal!" cursed Mard, as the bulbmin caught him in the chest with its heel and sent him flying out of the pen. He shook his fist and cursed some more, but the bulbmin only quizzickly stared, shifting its weight to its good foot. Finally Mard gave up and broke out laughing.

"You old cobber, you!" he laughed, standing up and patting the bulbmin on the snout. It snuffled and nudged him hard. "Alright!" he gasped, the breath leaving his lungs. He ducked down and whipped out his small knife. "I hope this hurts!" The bulbmin grunted and kicked him again, but Mard had already dislodged the object stuck between its toes. "A diamond!" the leafling suddenly cried. "A fucking diamond!"

That got Jeffa's attention. He jumped out of the pen, closing the door behind him so the large war-mount inside would not get out. "What did you say?" he asked, his voice almost drowned out as several other pikmin began pouring out of their pens.

"It's a diamond!" exclaimed Mard, holding it up for all to see. "Look!"

Sure enough, it was a diamond, but uncut and rough. The pikmin marvelled at it, many of them reaching out to touch it. Mard tightened his fist around it and glared. "This is my diamond! I'm rich! You hear me? Rich!" He stood up and began to stroke his prize. "Ooh, the Skar wanted me to have you, yes it did!" All the pikmin began to call out and yell excitedly, their voices rising by the second.

Suddenly a taller red pikmin jumped forward and tried to snatch the diamond away, but only succeeded in batting Mard's hand to the side. He yelled angrily. "Hey! Hey, this is mine! Leave me alone, Frek!"

The crowd that had gathered went silent, suddenly focused intently on the two other workers. Mard was smaller, better coordinated, but Frek was larger and stronger, and he had a bud. Mard was still only a leaf, barely more than sixteen.

The tall pikmin, a budling sneered openly, his face contorting with rage. "It ain't yours! Cobber's my job! You stole him 'cuz you knew that sparkle would be there!"

Mard looked confused, but at the same time angrier than before. "Fuck you, Frek! His name's Mjarn, not 'cobber'! 'tis his nickname! And your job's Old Bilt. He's down there, see!"

Frek, slow and dimwitted, could only growl furiously. "Nah! Nah! That's my diamond and you stole it!"

Mard began to back away, holding onto the diamond with an angry fist, the edges cutting into the palm of his hand. "No," he growled, eyes narrowed. "If found it. It's mine."

"Give... it... to... me!" hissed Frek, moving forward, his voice barely above a whisper. Mard shook his head, took another step back and found himself at a wall. Frek lunged forward, roaring. His fist struck Mard in the face with a resounding crack, right on the eyebrow, his other hand gripping his wrist. Mard screamed and twisted wildly, hurling Frek into the wall with a loud _bang_.

Jeffa watched fearfully, reaching into his pen and getting out his two-pronged pitchfork, old and rusted. He would use it to protect his friend if he had to; they had known each other since their planting.

Mard and Frek rolled back and forth, punching and kicking and striking one another with their stems. Mard slammed a knee into Frek's side and pulled back the hand holding the diamond, slammed it into Frek's face. The tall brute grunted and stumbled, swung a fist that knocked Mard's head to the side. The leafling, blood streaming out his nose, whipped around and struck Frek again. This time the budling went down, collapsing against the door of a pen and sliding down with one hand outstretched to protect his face. A huge split was in his forehead, gushing blood, blinding him. Mard went in, struck him again. The big pikmin went down like a sack of bricks, falling flat on his face.

"Mard, stopped!" somebody cried, and grabbed the leafling by the wrist. The pikmin whipped around, elbowing his new assailant in the face and nearly breaking his nose. His eyes were wild, uncontrolled, as he looked around for something to project his bloodwrath upon. His eyes fell upon Jeffa.

_Slap!_ Jeffa swung his pitchfork, striking Mard across the hand and spinning him around. The leafling cried in shock and pain, then abject horror as his diamond sailed across the pens and into the midst of yet more pikmin, bouncing left and right. He was off like a shot, screaming, "Get your hands off my diamond, get your hands off my diamond! Get your damned hands off my fucking diamond!"

Jeffa stood, panting, the pitchfork still in his hand. He heard a loud disturbed snuffle and looked to his left, saw the bulbmin called Mjarn inside his pen, looking down inside his sewer grate with panicked eyes. The ground rumbled momentarily, dust fell from the ceiling. Jeffa turned back to see Mard running after his diamond, jostling pikmin left and right.

"Mard!"

And then suddenly the ground was rising up beneath Mard's feet, cracking and breaking into huge clumps as it rose up and up and up like a ramp towards the ceiling, the whole city seeming to bubble upwards as buildings shattered with the stress and the pens began to come down. Mard's slipped into a crack, his feet left the rising ground as heat blasted out from beneath him and the force of the rise threw him upwards. He screamed aloud, struggled to shove his hand into the crack and grab his diamond.

And then the bubble burst, with the force of a thousand kilotons, destroying everything.

All that was left of hundreds and hundreds of innocent lives and three hundred years of architecture, was a massive plume of rising debris and flying chunks of building, rock, earth. All that looked directly at that site were blinded instantly, their retinas seared into oblivion as fire rose a mile into the sky. All the way across the river, buildings were shaken and some collapsed. The explosion was felt for well over a hundred miles in all directions.

Waves of water destroyed many buildings in Washva damaged by the shock of compressed, instantly-heated air. More waves washed away boats, threw onlooking blue pikmin high into the air and dragged them back into the river. Flying rubble cascaded into the city and into the surrounding region; the course of the river was diverted almost instantly into the poor district of the Botirian City across the Skien. From every possible exit, pressure escaped out of Skieth as it popped like a balloon.

Everything went to hell.

Instantly.

--

**"It doesn't matter whether you kill one or a hundred. Their blood is still on your hands, and now you have to live with it." -- Unknown**

**Please inform me of any errors. BTW, I did not destroy the entirety of the city; there are still parts of it in which pikmin have survived, so not everything is one big crater. You can't really destroy a whole city with the technology of these pikmin, now can you? But the devastation was at least 90, and now the blues cross the river... REVIEW!**


	24. The Aftermath

**I'm about to wrap up the Botirian Dramatic-Entrance. And I've decided that the city, though the explosion did massive damage, it did not leave even half the city a smoking crater. However, it did leave the center of the city a smoking crater, and did at least some structual damage to 90 percent of the buildings in the city. I've also decided that the bomb-rocks made the explosions and the methane being ignited simply made the explosion bigger, instead of the other way around.**

**Disclaimer - I don't own pikmin. However, this fanfic is my intellectual property and should not be ripped off.**

--

Skurve was completely blindsided by the explosion. One moment he was pulling himself through the final tunnel, clawing down the final stretch, and the next moment he was being flung out the opening with the speed of an arrow fired from a great bow. The water was so hot and the pressure of the blast so much, he felt like he was being flayed alive.

And then it was over.

For a few minutes, Skurve floated deep in the river, feeling it swirling and tugging at him as it struggled to find a new course. He tried to gather his thoughts, tested his body to see what damage was done. His right arm still hurt, but it was going numb. His back, chest, and stem felt scalded. And his head hurt, as did his lungs.

At least the water was breathable. For now. How much longer until the swirling debris began to choke him?

Skurve began to swim, slowly and painfully at first, but faster as the cold water soothed his blue skin. _What happened to Footh and Jimev?_ he wondered. His knee dug into loose scree.

Coughing, Skurve hauled himself up out of the water, and found himself standing on the Velosian side of the river. It was only waist deep here, but the water was clouding with stone dust.

Stone dust, and blood.

The body of Footh lay nearby, half submerged in water. His eyes were still open as the water lapped over him. A huge chunk of stone, stuck like a pillar in the scree, had nearly cut him in half.

_Shit. Where's Jimev?_

There was a loud gasp as a short, stocky blue pikmin suddenly exploded out of the water nearby. It was Jimev, but there was blood running off his face with the water. His pants were missing. With a start, Skurve realized that his were too.

"You alright?" yelled Jimev, clutching his shoulder, where something had dashed against him.

Skurve nodded, trying to find words. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm alright!"

There was a dull roar in the air and a huge cloud of dust had descended on the area, so that Skurve could only see Jimev's dim outline. Jimev was wading towards him.

"Fuck, it's Footh!" cried Jimev. Skurve bounded through the water to his comrade's side, and saw that Footh's guts had squirted out his mouth into the water. The dirty water was clouded with blood.

Skurve looked up, the dust in the air stinging his eyes and scalded skin. There was a loud rumble and a crash in the distance. A huge cloud of thick dust shot up into the air. "Shit... Jimev. The whole city's coming down. It's gotta be a fucking crater by now."

Jimev closed Footh's swelling eye-lids and stood up with a grunt. "Most likely, we only destroyed the center of the city. Everything else was just hit with second-hand blasts. Pressure escaping from streets, holes, vents."

A cloud had gathered overhead. Skurve could see it now that the dust around them had been blown partially away by the cold air. It was shaped like a mushroom.

"Hey, boats!" cried Jimev. He put a hand on Skurve's shoulder, causing a grimace, and spun him about.

It was glorious.

As far as the eye could see to the left and the right, which wasn't very far considering the dust, were scores of Botirian landing boats. They were square and box-like for the most part, with crude doors that swung down to act like a bridge from the boat to land. A few larger boats had prows, to which they had affixed...

...They had affixed butchered red pikmin.

Merchants, soldiers, diplomats. Every Velosian on the other side of the river was trussed up on the landing boats. They were all completely butchered. Entrails were strung out through various holes and nailed to whatever surface was available.

It made Skurve feel suddenly sick.

"Shit," said Jimev as the stockier landing boats floated by. A few had Velosians affixed to their sides. "This is fucking brutal."

A fellow Botirian soldier popped his head over the side of a boat. He was wearing a leather helmet. "What in the name of Gfal are you two doing? You're fucking naked!"

Jimev looked down at himself, then at Footh. He looked back up at the boat, and yelled. "Yeah, well, we just saved you 'min some serious shit!" He began to wade through the water after the boat. "Throw me a fucking shirt! Hey! A shirt!"

Skurve was beginning to feel very cold. The water was fine, especially with Footh's blood teasing at his right leg. But the air was blowing down the river from the north, and it was freezing the moisture on Skurve's skin. He still felt like he had a fever, and now he was starting to shiver.

Fuck, he was shivering uncontrollably.

Jimev waded a bit closer and tossed Skurve a thick wool vest, bloody and torn. It was a Velosian merchant's vest. Jimev had a similiar one; he must have torn it off one of the bodies on the boats.

"C'mon, my bud's about to freeze solid." Jimev wrapped the wool around his shoulders and started wading for the new scree beach. Skurve had no choice but to follow.

_Shit, I feel sick._

A large, iron-prowed boat came through the water just as Skurve reached the shore. The bodies of Velosian soldiers were strapped to it in all manner of terrible ways, as were their shields. Two were attached to the iron prow, one of them much larger than the other.

There was a sickening crunch as the boat plowed through Footh and the stone pillar that had killed him. Skurve looked away. He didn't need to see his friend's mangled body floating out there. But he turned back anyway, and saw that the crunch had been one of the Velosians strapped to the plow being split into sections. A few sections splashed in the water.

_Scrrrrttttcccccchhhhhhhhhh_

The iron prow dug a deep furrow through the scree, piling it until it reached the knees of the remaining Velosian, and finally tore him loose. The body flopped on the ground just as the boat came to a halt, and water rushed up, carrying it a few feet further.

He had a nice black cloak and the face of a negotiator. _A dead negotiator._

Hundreds of blues were filling the beach. Half the boats were on the scree, some of them out in the water behind the rest. And more were still crossing the river.

"Hey, you!" yelled a stocky Captain just before he vaulted out of the iron-prowed boat. "Stop standing there like a useless shit and start unloading equipment!"

But Skurve wasn't going to be unloading any equipment. His body apparently couldn't decide whether it was hot or cold, and he suddenly felt like he wanted to lie down.

So he did.

--

**I've made this chapter special-long because it's been so long since my last update. A couple more chapters, or maybe just one more, and then I'm leaving the Botirians and moving to General Flimnr (of the Velosians). I've also decided that every now and then, I'm going to make a single chapter a list of important names that you should remember, mostly character names or the names of important events that are relevant to future parts of the story. And I can now only use the computer at night, so don't expect much from me.**

**Read & Review or die from my ultra seriousness. :angry face:**


	25. Aphorians

**This chapter officially marks the beginning of Part II of the story! Also, abrupt skip from Skurve passing out to some Aphorian guys making a raid. Correction: about to make a raid. And please note that seed-brothers are just pikmin planted in the same batch.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own pikmin, don't sue.**

--

Steffek felt the steady _thump thump thump_ of his boots jar him all the up to the tip of his stem. His armor was rattling, still loose and unfitted. He'd thought he could get away with tightening everything as far as it would go, but that thought was costing him. At least his hauberk and belt fit him, but the combination of an axe and a heavy shield on his left side was causing him to drift. Steffek corrected his course and put on an extra burst of speed to try and catch up with the rest of the raiders.

_This is it,_ he told himself for the thirteenth time, his luckiest number. _I'm a raider now, a real warrior. I've got to keep up._

"Hurry up, maggot!" barked Gravak as he bounded by, sword in hand, snow clinging to most of his body. He was one of Steffek's seed-brothers, born in the same batch, but he was bigger and far angrier. The older warriors said he would make a great Berserker one day. Berserkers rarely lasted long, of course, but that's just because they weren't supposed to.

The pine trees were thinning out now, but the snow was getting thicker too. Steffek's axe was dragging in the snow, bouncing and dragging through drifts. More and more warriors were passing him on either side.

"Stop trying to push through the snow," said a booming voice just behind Steffek. He didn't have to look to know that it was Orvak, his most senior seed-brother. "Lift your legs over it and bound, like this."

Orvak leaped past Steffek, landing with one foot in the snow, pushing off with it, and landing again on the other foot. He twisted and bounded backwards with practiced ease. "See? Now you try."

Bunching up in his armor, Steffek bounded forward, but when his right foot hit the snow, his left foot followed. He was hopping like a mad wollywog.

"No!" reprimanded Orvak, eye-smiling just slightly. "Like you're running, but with high and long steps. Again."

Orvak took off, and Steffek knew he'd have to get it right this time. So he picked his leg up and swung it forward, then made a jump, put his foot in the snow, and swung his other leg forward. It worked. Within seconds, he was bounding along through the snow, catching up with the rest of the raiders. Still, it felt unnatural, and soon his thighs were burning. He was used to slogging through snow, or skimming the upper layers with his boots as he ran.

The last of the pine trees bounced by in quick, disjointed flashes. The warriors had all stopped bounding, as the snow outside the forest was too tall for effective running. The warriors at the front were wading ahead, forging paths for the rest of their Aphorian brothers. Typical Gravak, however, was going it alone, as were a few others here and there. Steffek didn't feel like pushing through waist-deep snow in full armor, especially when the armor didn't fit, so he jumped into the first path he found. It was a good trench, made by at least a dozen warriors, and was already packed down so that Steffek's feet didn't sink like they would in other paths.

_Thank the stars for these boots,_ thought Steffek, seeing that everything from his waist down was layered with snow. He was getting cold, but that didn't matter; he hardly noticed it. His feet were all that mattered, and they were still warm, thanks to the thickness of the boots and the Hairy Bulborb fur that lined the insides. For good measure, most warriors also wrapped fur around the outside of their boots and under the arches of their feet, tying it just behind their toes. Steffek had not done this, but only because he couldn't secure enough fur for anything more than the lining; the shortages were getting worse.

It didn't take long for Steffek to catch up with the main group. And what's more, he could see tendrils of smoke now. There was no wind to blow it away, and so multiple streams of the flying ash had ascended into the low clouds. Steffek stopped for a moment, turning to look back down into the valley. He could almost see his own village from here. He could see wood smoke, just like the streams of smoke up ahead, drifting lazily to the stars.

"Hey! Maggot!"

It was Gravak again. He was waving his arms and looked furious; he probably wanted to yell and roar, possibly even beat Steffek. Embarrased for his daydreaming, Steffek sprinted up the path to the rest of the warriors. A few gave him reprimanding looks, mostly those who were young and had not yet taken a life. The older warriors didn't seem to care about his delay, all but a few of them squatting on the crest of the hill. In fact, one of them slapped Gravak upside the helmet and reprimanded him for yelling.

"Idiot! Do you want to wake the whole village?"

Gravak rubbed his helmet and stem, looking like a furious Bulbear.

The smoke up ahead was still calm and peaceful. Steffek knew what it was; the nearest settlement to his own village, though it did not reside in the valley. He also knew why he was here: to kill every pikmin in it, for disobendience to the _Wiergald_, or the command to go to war in arms. The warriors here had turned their backs on the honor and glory of Aphor; all they wanted to do was stay here in their tiny village and hide from the world. There had been no contact with them for several days.

It was Steffek's _duty_ to put down this insurrection. And his privilege.

--

**Hells yeah, we finally get to see the green pikmin. I forgot to actually put in that they're green pikmin, but you probably know what they are by now. It'll all be clear in the next chapter, when we also finally get to see... an Onion. *ooh-aah***

**Read and Review. Don't duck out on me, I see you hiding there. Anonymous people can review too!**


	26. First Life

**At long last, another fight. Will Steffek take his first life, or have his own taken from him? Let's see what these Aphorians are made of.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own pikmin.**

--

Gorgolv was the most senior warrior in the raiding party. He was more than forty years old, a venerable age for any green pikmin. When he was younger a blade had put out his right eye, and once a spear had cut his stem, giving it an odd bend. He was looking to die in battle as soon as possible.

"Orvak, take your group straight through the center of the village," ordered Gorgolv in a grating voice. "Felvek, attack their Onion. Hrothev, root through the buildings on this side of the village."

Steffek watched at a distance, straining to hear over the growing wind, as Gorgolv motioned over his most trusted warrior, the formidable Bargalv. The towering mountain of muscle and sinew walked over, still crouched, and rested on his knees.

For the life of him, Steffek couldn't hear what Gorgolv was saying. He was whispering in Bargalv's ear; the mighty warrior had the same look of cold indifference he always had, except something was different.

His blinking. Yes, that was it. Bargalv was blinking rapidly. And his stem straightened just a bit.

After a moment, the two parted. Gorgolv placed his hands together and surveyed the warriors that surrounded him with his one eye. His gaze swept back and forth, stopping on each for just a second and then moving on, like somebody trying to memorize faces or remember times gone by.

His eye did not stop on any of the younger pikmin.

"Right. Light your torches and assume your positions. We haven't got much time left."

Steffek hastily dropped back behind the crest of the hill, following Orvak, Gravak, and the rest of his seed brothers. They huddled together out of the wind and watched as Orvak cleared out a pit in the snow. He crouched in it and took out the log he had in his leather bag, then his flint and metal. The rag tied to the torch, soaked in Bulborb fat, lit within seconds.

"Alright, hand me your torches."

Gravak's was lit first. He took it back and surveyed it with a look that seemed to Steffek a cross between familiarity and curosity.

Steffek's torch was lit last. The flame swayed and danced in the wind, but there wasn't any danger of it going out just yet. The wind wouldn't have enough strength for another hour or so.

Orvak had his round shield over his left arm, and the torch in his right hand. He surveyed each of his five remaining seed brothers, and then said, "Right. Follow me."

Steffek knew his seed brother well, after seventeen years together. Beneath his helmet, Orvak's eyes were half-closed and watery.

He was wondering, would any of his best friends die?

--

It had taken forever to get to their positions, just behind the pine trees that marked the edge of the cowardly village. Fearful of dropping his torch or dousing it in any way, Steffek had waded slowly through the snow, as did his seed brothers. And even after reaching the pine trees, they had been waiting for close to ten minutes.

"Why didn't we just light our torches here?" asked Vrothk, the best sword fighter in the group.

"Because..." replied Orvak, suddenly stopping and tilting his stem sideways. "...Huh. I didn't think about it."

"You're an idiot," growled Gravak. "A hopeless idiot."

Sometimes, Steffek wondered why Orvak didn't punch Gravak. He was a bad seed brother, a spiteful hatemonger, and a poison to the group. He never let Orvak lead, and he always looked for any opportunity to verbally attack him. Steffek knew that Orvak could easily take down Gravak; he had a good deal of height and muscle over him, as well as a level-head. So why wouldn't he do it?

"There's the signal!" said Rathov, the skinniest of the group, and one who was prone to sudden outbursts such as this one.

But there was no need to hush Rathov. The group could easily see the multiple waving torches on the far hill. Gorgolv, Bargalv and their group was moving down the hill at a steady clip.

"Alright, go! Go!" ordered Orvak in his most commanding voice. Steffek didn't need to be told twice, nor the others.

The rush of adrenaline that had been ebbing since the torch-lighting now spiked as Steffek bounded through the knee-high snow. Most of his comrades had already passed him, torch fires trailing after them as they ran. Gravak was at the very front of the group, howling like a deranged snow bulborb.

They had reached the village now. Steffek could see the cowardly Onion over the roofs of the houses, though it was partially concealed by lazy trails of smoke. Even the familiar green color of the Onion was sickly in Steffek's eyes, and his heart burned with rage against it.

"Raarrgh!" roared Belvek, the pikmin on Steffek's left, as he skidded to a stop with his arm cocked back, and threw his torch. It arced lazily, spinning slowly, and then landed on the roof thatching of the first hut. The wind had blown away most of the snow on the thatching, and within seconds the fire caught hold.

Now Gravak and Vrothk lobbed their torches, one through the skin-covered window of a hut, the other onto the same hut's roof. Fire caught on the leather window covering as it swept back and forth. Inside, a pikmin screamed.

Rathov and Orvak threw their torches at seperate buildings. Flame erupted from the eaves of the houses.

Now it was only Steffek left with a torch. He bounded past Vrothk and Gravak, heading for the only hut left within throwing range that had not been fired. He just needed to get a little closer, so he wouldn't miss...

To Steffek's left, the door of the first hut exploded outward in a cloud of ash and smoke. A fierce and terrible green pikmin wearing only a tunic and thick leggings jumped out, sword in hand. He roared, stepping into Steffek's path with the sword raised.

_Oh no. Oh no, oh no!_

But then Orvak was there, howling like a monster, throwing his shield arm over the attacker's sword arm and bringing his own sword in a tight arc straight into his chest. Bone cracked and the attacking pikmin roared like a wounded Bulbear.

"Go!" someone just behind Steffek screamed. He jumped into action, skirting Orvak and his former attacker, pumping his legs up and down through the snow.

"Raagh!" Steffek screamed, releasing all of his pent up energy and adrenaline into his throw. His torch twisted through the air and bounced on the hut's thatching.

_It's not going to light. It's going to bounce off. I fucked up and now it's going to bounce off._

But it didn't. The torch stayed, sliding only slightly downward and trailing vibrant orange fire.

All around Steffek, pikmin were screaming. He turned around while he was fiddling with the strap on his axe and belt, and saw why. Several unarmored pikmin with weapons had rushed from their homes to attack his seed brothers. Gravak rushed two of them, slamming his shield into one of them with such force that the pikmin flew backwards. Orvak had another by the stem and was pulling his sword out of its shoulder.

Freeing his axe from his belt, Steffek turned back around.

A pikmin with wild eyes and intersecting scars was right there in Steffek's face.

_Crunch._

The pikmin slammed into Steffek, and suddenly the burning huts weren't there anymore, just clear blue sky. All the breath rushed out of Steffek as he hit the snow and plowed through it backwards. There was pain in his left arm and his right arm was trapped beneath his shield, along with his axe. He took in all of this in a split second, even with his helmet skewed and confusion clouding his mind.

The attacking pikmin had a huge knife. It had to be almost as long as Steffek's forearm. It gleamed a dull orange in the fire light. The pikmin was going to drive it into Steffek's neck and there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn't see half the blade because it was already _coming straight at him._

And then Rathov hit the pikmin in a flying tackle. The two hit the snow with a loud _thwumch_, and rolled. Rathov came out on top but too closely intertwined with the pikmin to use his spear, or his shield. The two struggled fiercely, attempting to either get a headlock on one another or use their weapons. The big knife flashed. Rathov brought his fist down with a sickening crunch on the obviously older pikmin's head.

There was yelling to Steffek's right. He rolled over, putting his shield flat on the snow and pushing himself to his feet. His shoulder hurt like hell, but that didn't matter right now and it wasn't his axe-arm, so he ignored it.

Two pikmin were coming at Steffek from two different directions. One had a spear, the other a helmet, shield and sword. He had to avoid them, so he dove forward.

"Urgh!" grunted Steffek, throwing himself left-shoulder first into the snow between the charging enemy pikmin, and rolling past. He came to his knees, slightly off balance, and stood with his left leg. The pikmin with the spear whipped around and stabbed at him, but missed and pierced the snow just in front of Steffek. Lurching forward, Steffek brought his shield up in a crushing blow that must have rattled the pikmin's brains, because the metal boss in the center struck his face.

"Murderer!" roared the second pikmin, lunging forward with his own shield. Steffek had his axe drawn back, but he couldn't swing it fast enough. The wooden rim hit him in the brow, but the metal crosspiece between his eyes softened the blow. The metal boss in the center hit his chest, crushing what little wind was left out of his lungs, and knocking him backwards.

For the second time within fifteen seconds, Steffek was on his back and a blade was coming right at him.

He rolled left. The blade struck snow.

He rolled right, and drove the rim of his shield into his opponent's knee. The pikmin howled in pain even as he toppled over Steffek.

Before he could even get to his knees, the spear-wielding pikmin was back. Steffek rolled to his right and came up on his stomach. There was snow in his helmet and inside his chainmail hauberk.

_Shit_.

But the spear pikmin was off balance and took two more steps, narrowly avoiding tripping over his fallen comrade with a jump, and landed on his side anyway. Steffek took the opportunity to scramble to his feet and bring his axe back for a strike.

The sword pikmin was up on one arm now, trying to rise with an injured leg. Steffek brought his axe in a wide arc straight into the pikmin's helmet.

The spurt of blood didn't faze Steffek. The sickening crunch of helmet and skull didn't affect him. But the way his arm came to a sudden stop with such a jolt... it scared the hell out of him.

All Steffek could do was stare at the axe embedded in his opponent's head and the way the blood completely covered its face. He couldn't bring himself to try and pull it free.

The heavy butt of the spear striking his forehead did the job for him.

For the third time in under half a minute, the sight before his eyes was replaced by a brief flash of blue sky and lazy smoke trails, and he hit the snow before he knew he'd gone halfway to the ground.

--

**As usual, the battle chapter is exceedingly long (for this particular story, anyway). But it's well worth it. If you see any areas that need improving, or gaps in the description that need filling, please tell me in a review. Remember: ANYONE can review. That means you.**

**Read & Review, folks.**


	27. Butchery

**Here it is, as late as always. Not as late as Tales of the Extreme's upcoming chapter, but that's a different story. A story that should be completed some time this year, hopefully. And damnit, if it isn't, I'm going to be majorly pissed off and dissapointed in myself.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Pikmin or do I claim any rights except to the content of this story and my characters. The end.**

--

It took a few seconds for Steffek to rally his scattered senses. He could taste blood, and the awful scent of shattered bowels and broken bodies filled the village's still air. The sky was a blue dome high above him, columns of sooty black smoke racing upwards to meet it. The sounds of ringing iron and the clash of shields still echoed all around him, and there was pain in nearly every part of his body. His stem was folded under his left shoulder.

Struggling to right himself, Steffek managed to free the top half of his body from the freezing snow drift he had fallen into. He found that his axe was no longer in his hands, and propping himself up on his elbows he saw that it remained in the head of the other warrior, around which a pool of red was rapidly spreading through the snow.

Where was the second enemy warrior, Steffek wondered. Wouldn't the pikmin have run the sword through him as soon as he was down? But no, he saw now; the spearmin had turned to meet the charge of Steffek's seed-brother Belvek. Both were in the snow, covered with blood, but Belvek was already hauling himself up and the other had a dagger protruding from his eye.

Suddenly Vrothk was there, the blade of his sword and most of his arm stained with the blood of his foes. He stopped only for a moment, slinging his battered shield over his shoulder and pulling Steffek to his knees, and then he was gone. The young pikmin met the charge of two oncoming warriors who clearly outmatched him and began a desperate attempt to hold them back. Steffek took the opportunity to grab his own shield with his rapidly stiffening left arm, and then tear his axe free from the skull of his only kill. The blood quickly pooled in the split on the warrior's face.

Steffek wasted only a second surveying the area. He found it to be littered with bodies and splashed with blood; not all the bodies were fighters, and not all the blood was the enemy's. Orvak, who had one enemy in a headlock and was gashing their neck with his sword, clearly had a bad wound on his back. Gravak, who was hacking at two fallen females, was bleeding from his face and side. Energetic Rathov was on his hands and knees, coughing violently, the pikmin with the large knife dead next to him.

That one second told Steffek all he needed to know about the battle. They were winning, but at a cost. He turned and raced to help Vrothk.

Vrothk was almost legendary for his swordfighting capabilities. Last winter he had challenged a green from another village who had accosted him, and told him that he was a poor swordsmin. The snow had been stained a deep violet.

Even still, Vrothk was still young. He could not hope to kill both of his attackers unless he had help. Steffek decided that it was his duty as seed-brother to the beleagured budling to jump in and at least distract somebody. So he did, and got more than he bargained for.

Both of the opposing warriors had shields and helmets; one had a chainmail hauberk, and he had a sword of better quality than Vrothk's. The second was also carrying a sword, of the same quality as his comrade, but slightly shorter. As Steffek neared the fight, circling around behind it, Vrothk took a blow to his helmet and stumbled. He caught the next blow full on his shield, and went flying.

"Raagh!" roared Steffek, leaping forward. The warrior with the shorter sword turned to face him and tried to deflect this new assailant's axe to the side, but he got the angle of his shield wrong. The axe penetrated the shield and stuck fast, rendering both useless.

The larger and older warrior still had his sword. Steffek had nothing but a dagger in his belt; or at least, he _had_ had it, because he'd dropped it some time earlier. Almost immediately the other pikmin's sword was coming down in a tight arc. Acting on instinct, and the assumption that if he stepped backwards he would lose what little advantage he had left, Steffek let go of his axe and tackled the other around the waist. There was a sharp grunt, and then both of them were in the snow.

Steffek was a good wrestler, but he was small and inexperienced at actual fighting, encumbered by his armor. The other pikmin was more than a head taller than him, outweighed him significantly, and was obviously a seasoned warrior. Luckily, he was on his back, with his sword occupying one hand and his shield occupying the other; he dropped the ruined shield immediately.

Somehow, Steffek was worked back up onto his knees. A knee that was not his own connected with his chin and his helmet flew off. Completely unaware of what was going on and his head ringing like an iron bell, Steffek launched himself forward. He tackled the enemy warrior so heavily, he almost flipped over him. When he came crashing down, the sword was pinned between the two warriors, but the foe had a strong arm wrapped all the way around Steffek. He couldn't get free.

The edge of the sword was digging into Steffek's chest. That meant that the other edge was doing the same for his enemy. He ignored the pain and pulled himself further forward, prompting a squeak from his foe and a gasp of agony from himself.

Then Steffek headbutted him. He got the attack down perfectly; the strongest part of his skull connected with the bone inbetween the other pikmin's eyes, broke his face. There was blood in their eyes now, but neither pikmin relaxed their grip on the other. _Crack!_ Steffek headbutted again, this time hurting himself as well as the other. _Crack!_ Again, and this time the other pikmin's grip slackened.

Now they were rolling. Blood poured into Steffek's unprotected face and he realized that his opponent had lost his helmet as well. A good thing, too; otherwise it would have been Steffek's face who was broken. But now the bigger pikmin was on top of him, and both hands were wrapped around his throat. The young raider could feel himself being strangled to death. He lurched and struggled, gasping as his windpipe was slowly crushed, and knew all the while that his thrashing made little difference.

Then his fingers found it; the knife. Not in the snow, but on his opponent's belt. Steffek gripped it, wrenched it free of its leather sheath, and plunged it into whatever he could reach.

The choking stopped. The big pikmin slumped forward onto Steffek, splashing him with blood. The knife protruded from his neck, and Steffek's still had his hand on it. He let go of it like it were on fire, and shoved the body off of him.

By the time Steffek had struggled to his hands and knees, his chest heaving as he sucked in breath and coughed it back out, the battle was over. The whimpers and cries of severely wounded pikmin could be heard, though most of them were probably seedlings or females.

The carnage was unbelievable. Bodies were strewn everywhere, the buildings were completely filled with fire, and great towering columns of black smoke rose into the sky, seeming to hold it up like dark pillars. Orvak was leaning heavily against a small, stunted tree that threatened to snap beneath his weight. Gravak was on his hands and knees, bleeding and panting like a wild animal. Vrothk stood over the body of the warrior with the well-crafted sword, panting and streaked with blood that wasn't his. Belvek looked like he was in a daze, covered in blood and obviously hurt to some degree. Rathov was hurt even worse, on his knees, resting the bloody palms of his hands on his thighs, and gazing skyward. Every now and then he coughed violently, and when he did he went down on all fours.

Steffek felt nothing but pain now. His left arm refused to twist at the shoulder, his stem felt sprained, he had a black eye, his forehead was bleeding, and his ribs not only hurt, they were bruised from being pinned against a sword edge. Collapsing to the welcoming snow, overpowered by his agony, the smell of acrid smoke, and death, he began to retch.

He retched and he retched until his stomach muscles cramped and he was forced to double over in pain, groaning.

And then he passed out.

--

**Well at least Steffek isn't a weanie. How many did he kill? Two? Both of them superior to him in just about every way? That's pretty cool.**

**Read & Review ASAP, so I'll update marginally faster. That means YOU.**


	28. Blood Smoke

**Uber procrastination! I never update anymore. I must be maturing into a real author. WISDOM THUMBS HAS EVOLVED +1**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Pikmin. This is batshit crazy fanfiction.**

--

Coughing and spluttering back to consciousness, Steffek rallied his senses and tried to pinpoint where he was. A feeling of dread soon settled in his empty stomach. What he would do for some nectar, or even some hearty Bulborb stew. Where was he, anyway?

The cold finally hit him, and then the smell of smoke and burning bodies. He brushed at the freezing snow off his stem, face and neck. He shivered, felt his insides tense, and then the feeling of having killed somebody gripped him like a vice. He felt like he was going to lose it, like fire was about to consume him and he was about to die.

Then Vrothk was there, bending over him, one sword belted at his side and another laid across his knees, both streaked with blood and entrails.

"Steffek," said Vrothk, giving the weaker seed-twin by the shoulder. "Come brother, get up. Are you alright?"

Steffek realized that he was curled up in a ball in the snow. Embarrassed, he struggled to his feet, helped by Vrothk. "I'm fine," he said, feeling otherwise. His insides twisted and knotted when he saw all the blood that surrounded him.

"Get your axe," ordered Vrothk, "Then come look at this sword."

Numb, Steffek nodded and stumbled through the snow. His left arm hurt like hell, a stiff pain mostly in his elbow. His throat hurt too, and everywhere that he had been in prolonged contact with snow it felt like a bad bruise.

He found the body of his first kill in the snow not far away, under a blanket of grey smoke. A large pool of viscous, cold blood had formed around the dead pikmin's head. The axe itself was embedded so deep that it had almost split the min's head in half down the middle, nearly split the stem from the skull.

Steffek placed his boot on the dead pikmin's face and jerked the axe back and forth several times before it came free with a crunch and a sucking sound. The force of the effort crushed the skull beneath Steffek's boot, popping one of the eyeballs from its socket. Sickened, Steffek went back to Vrothk, finding it hard to see him through all the thick smoke.

Vrothk gave Steffek a hearty pat on the back when he found him. "Here, take a look at this sword." He shoved the blade in front of his seed-brother's face.

Steffek recognized the runes inscribed on the sword instaneously. They said, "Take this blade unto the enemy, bite the bone and slay." A little over the top and maybe a bit too eloquent, but it served its purpose. The blade was long and exceedingly well-made, even without the bonus of the runes.

"It's amazing," said Steffek, trying not to think about the streak of blood on the sword; he wondered if it was Vrothk's.

"That blood's not mine," said Vrothk, as if reading his friend's mind. "The stupid fucker impaled his arm on it when he fell. A clumsy oaf anyway, don't know how he got possession of a sword like this."

"Yeah," agreed Steffek. He looked around, seeing the still-burning husks of buildings all around. The smoke obscured nearly everything, even muffling sound. "Where is everyone?"

Vrothk waved a hand dismissively. "Probably at the center of the village. Something's happened." He clapped a hand on Steffek's shoulder. "Come on, let's go see what its all about. I'm sure the other brothers are there."

They walked shoulder-to-shoulder through the smoke, trying to stick to the areas where wind cut it away. Every now and then Steffek heard voices, or pikmin moaning, Mostly he could only hear the soft crackling of the fires, and the driving wind. A few flakes of snow fell here and there.

"How many were killed?" asked Steffek. "Were there any wounded?"

Vrothk shrugged. "I'm sure that we killed all of them. As for us, maybe a few killed, I don't know. We'll see."

Quite suddenly, two figures in armor materialized from behind a thick bank of snow. Vrothk raised the ornate sword, jumping in front of Steffek, who raised his axe half-heartedly. If these were enemy pikmin, he didn't know if he could take them.

"Ho there, budlings!" called one of the two figures. Finally Steffek recognized him; it was Hrothev, the leader of one the parties that Gorgolv had appointed.

Vrothk gave a wave with his new sword. "Ho there to you too, Hrothev! How was business?"

The two flowered green pikmin came forward and everybody exchanged greetings. Hrothev doled out congratulations on Vrothk and Steffek in massive amounts. The other flower pikmin remained silent, streaked with smoke and blood.

"Gorgolv is dead," Hrothev said at last, face now grim.

Steffek felt a momentary twinge in his stomach, and then a pressure in his chest. Gorgolv, dead?

"How the mighty have fallen," muttered Vrothk.

"Aye."

There was suddenly a dispirited moan from one of the nearby buildings, with steps leading up to its doors. There was no fire, too much snow on the thatched roof, but the building was coughing smoke. The moan was obviously that of a pikmin.

Hrothev held up a hand. "A survivor." He growled, tilting his stem forward aggressively. "You budlings go on to the center of the village, with the rest of the warriors. We'll mop up here."

Vrothk shook his head and moved towards the hut. "Steffek, go to the village center. I'll find you there. You older warriors, let me have this kill."

The warrior named Solvat, Hrothev's companion, clapped a hand on Vrothk's shoulder. "A fine warrior. I'd hate to be a Velosian fighting you!"

Steffek offered some encouragement to his seed-brother. "Do good, Vrothk. Save yourself for the... for the real fight."

_Was this not a real fight?_ Steffek asked himself. _If it wasn't, then what was the point? What was it worth?_

Hrothev and Solvat disappeared into the smog, making for the center of the village now that their job was done. Vrothk moved up the steps with the sword held high, ready to thrust and kill. He moved to the door and pushed it open, then disappeared into the billowing smoke. Steffek didn't wait to see what happened. He left for the center of the village.

He needed to see Gorgolv one last time, to see the other warriors. To find the other brothers.

--

**Review, sonofacrap! I worked on this for once.**

**R&R**


	29. Hiding the Pain

**A return to the inglorious short chapters. I find them easier to write, and that means faster updates. Now if I could only get ON my ass more and update my other stories. Which one first...**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Pikmin. This is alternate universe fanfiction.**

--

The traitorous green Onion was engulfed in cleansing fire in the center of the village, surrounded by dozens of butchered bodies, many of them also lit aflame. The once proud Onion's legs had been hewn off, and only the acrid stench of its burning body could be smelled in the air.

Gorgolv's body lay off to the side, surrounded by many warriors. His right-hand warrior, Bargalv, held the limp corpse in his arms, unmoving but blinking rapidly. Nearby there lay several wounded. Among them was Rathov, being tended to by Orvak, who was in turn being tended to by Belvek. Ignoring Gorgolv's body for the moment, Steffek made his way through the bloody snow to his seed-brothers.

"I came as quick as I--" started Steffek, only to be cut off by the fallen Rathov, who raised a hand.

"Not now, Steffek."

Steffek tried to get a better look at Rathov, but Orvak shifted to block him. Belvek grunted angrily and followed him, as he attempted to patch up the deep cut on Orvak's back. There was blood in the snow all around his friends.

"Where is Gravak?" asked Belvek, looking up momentarily from his work. Orvak muttered something to Rathov. "And Vrothk? Where is Vrothk?"

Steffek stepped forward and kneeled next to his seed brothers. "Vrothk is helping to search the village for survivors." He fought the cold feeling in his stomach as he realized that Vrothk had entered a smoke-filled and dark hut alone.

"Feeling any better?," asked Orvak, squeezing his friend's bloody hand. Rathov eye-smiled and nodded. Steffek could see his chest now, rising and falling slowly, his seed brother's breathing obviously labored. He had two punctures in his leather lamellar armor, but apart from a little blood he appeared fine.

"I'm not that badly hurt," Rathov finally managed. "It's just painful."

Orvak's face was pale and taut. Probably from his own pain, Steffek rationalized.

Rathov layed his hand back in the snow, but Orvak cushioned it with his hand, while he put his other hand on his friend's chest. "Just rest now, alright? Save your breath."

Belvek grunted again. "Will you just stay the fuck still? Shit, you've pulled the wound open again! Do you want an open wound?"

"Shut up," snorted Orvak, almost cheerfully. Almost.

Standing, Steffek moved over to the cluster of warriors surrounding Gorgolv. He wormed his way through their midst until he was standing next to the body. Bargalv was still holding it.

There was something discomforting about Gorgolv's body, noticed Steffek. He kneeled and inched closer through the trampled snow. Now he could see what was wrong.

All of Gorgolv's intestines, his guts and entrails, were spilling out of a massive wound in his side, right into Bargalv's lap. The younger, Bulbear-like warrior seemed to be cradling them. He was certainly cradling his mentor's body.

There were some hushed murmurs, but for a while nobody spoke out loud. Bargalv sat completely still with the corpse in his arms.

Finally the battle-scarred warrior spoke, lifting his face to the Pikmin around him, but lowering his flower like a veil. "Warriors, today we have suffered a grave loss. Our eldest and most reknowned warrior has fallen in battle against other greens. Unfortunately, he will not accompany us when we invade Velosia. However, his spirit will lend ours' strength, and wisdom, in the battles that will follow." He paused momentarily, as if recollecting one last bit of a long-rehearsed speech. "Gorgolv One-Eye is dead."

"Bold and grim," murmered many of the 'min in the crowd in unison.

"Bold and grim," repeated Steffek quietly, resting his bloodied axe across his knee and watching the half-frozen blood dangling and dribbling from Gorgolv's body.

A feeling crept into Steffek's gut. He realized how fast things had moved over the course of the past day. So many terrible and grim things had happened to him, to his seed brothers, to his fellow green Pikmin. The greatest warrior in the valley had died in a worthless battle. Greens had fought greens.

He removed his helmet and let his bud fall in front of his face to mask the tears.

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**Read and please don't forget to review. (BTW, interesting fact: both my thumbs are painfully jammed right now)**


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